Truth In The Blood
by Harlequin Ravenwing
Summary: King Alistair and Queen Bronwen Cousland appeared happy, Ferelden was at peace and they had a son. But sometimes happiness is an illusion, and a night's indiscretion with a certain elven assassin long ago, leads to doubt and revalations that will change the course of all thier lives. All characters property of Bioware. Previously posted as 'Gixxer600', now revised and updated.
1. What We Do For Love

**Author's Note: As stated in the summary, I previously posted this story as Gixxer600, but since I no longer use that ID I am reposting here as I am in the process of writing a sequel and wanted them both to be in the same place.**

**However, this new version is revised and updated with some of the chapters being slightly rewritten to ensure continuity.  
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**Quin xXx  
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WHAT WE DO FOR LOVE…

_She would stand before him, naked and lithe, her svelte body swaying hypnotically and those full lips pouting suggestively…_

Stop it…just stop!

_He would be laying there with that sweet, bashful look on his face as she laid a silken hand on his thigh and slid it upward toward his groin…_

No…don't do this to yourself…

_He always said he hated her, but now…with her ready sex positioned over his member…_

Please….no.

_Of course, he would enjoy it. He'd have to in order to climax, to get her with child. Would he call her name as he thrust inside her? Would he hold her tightly as his seed pumped into her? Would he cradle her in his arms afterward and whisper into her hair…just as he always did when they made love…? _

Bronwen Cousland felt her eyes burning with hot tears as she watched Alistair reluctantly follow Morrigan out of her room.

This was happening…it was really happening. Her husband to be, the future King of Ferelden was going to sleep with the taciturn woman who had become one of her most loyal friends.

She bit down hard onto her lip to stifle the sob that threatened to tear from her throat and tasted the iron tang of her blood...her damned tainted blood. The same blood that meant this act, this ritual had to take place at all.

She guessed it was some form of divine retribution.

At the Landsmeet, she had taken the head of Teryn Loghain not only for the crimes he had committed against King Cailan, the elves of the Alienage, Duncan and the Grey Wardens and Ferelden itself, but for him…for Alistair.

Seeing the outrage in his face when Riordan had suggested recruiting the Teryn to the Wardens had been the weight that tipped the scales. She herself was a child of noble birth, a Cousland no less and deep down, she knew the right thing to do was to offer him mercy and the chance to redeem those wrongs…but Alistair would never have forgiven her.

Not for that.

Even as her sword fell, she knew there would be a price to pay. The assembled nobles hadn't judged her, but somehow, somewhere, she knew somebody would…

Afterwards, she had declared Alistair to be the rightful King and she was certain of her decision even if he was not. He was a good man…no, a great man with the heart of a lion and a steely sense of justice that was tempered with kindness and compassion. Ferelden could have no better ruler.

Then she had surprised herself by offering to rule at his side as Queen Consort.

Naturally, there had been unkind murmurs of her grasping for power, but the simple truth was that she loved him with all her heart and soul and the thought of being without Alistair scared her more than a thousand Archdemons.

So it was decided.

An unconventional proposal, but one that Alistair had calmly accepted and then in the privacy of his room in Arl Eamon's estate, they had celebrated with a desperate, passionate union that brought tears to her eyes as they both reached their peaks and then slumbered in the bliss of exhausted, satisfied sleep.

Then they had returned to Redcliffe and things had taken a painful turn.

A couple of hours ago, Riordan had asked to see them. The look on his face was one of haunted sorrow. Even now, she still felt the chill in her heart as he had explained that the reason only the Grey Wardens could end the Blight was that the Archdemon must be slain by one who has the taint…one who had been inducted into their order…one who must be willing to sacrifice his or her life to perform the killing blow.

For the Archdemon to be destroyed, a Grey Warden must die.

Riordan had volunteered to take the blow but there was no guarantee that he would make it that far and so it would fall to either her or Alistair to end the Blight…and their life together. They had left Riordan in stunned silence. A decision to be made and yet neither willing to make it. Just as she would gladly lay down her life for the man she cared about above all others, so he would do the same for her and therein lay the problem.

Bronwen Cousland could not allow that to happen.

Her mind had raced as they went to their separate rooms, an idea forming in her head. She would tell Zevran of her plight and make him swear to incapacitate Alistair at the appropriate time. The elven assassin had become a closer friend than either of them could have anticipated and she knew he would help her if she asked, even if it meant her death. In the cold light of day, Alistair was to be the King and she…well…she was possibly the last member of a noble house that no longer existed. The country could live without her, but not without her beloved Alistair.

Or so she had decided, until she spotted Morrigan warming herself by the open fire in her room.

The witch of the wilds had surprised her by telling her that she knew of the Warden's role in the slaying of the Archdemon and that she had a way out…for both of them, and Maker knows Bronwen's heart had leapt until she saw the look in her coppery eyes. Gone was the callous confidence and usual indifference that Morrigan so often displayed, and it was replaced by cautious compassion and more alarmingly, anxious guilt.

Her heart had nearly torn in two as the witch explained that to save them both, she would have to lie with Alistair and conceive a child. She would need to practice a dark ritual that would ensure that the essence of the Archdemon would be drawn into the newly conceived babe, sparing the lives of both Alistair and herself. Then Morrigan would steal away, never to be seen or heard from again to raise the child in safety and seclusion.

The agony of her solution had burned into Bronwen's heart like a fiery stake.

Morrigan had not understood her reservations. To her, sex was something she found almost a recreational past-time and not the meeting of heart and soul as it was when she lay with Alistair. Bronwen had not taken another to her bed since being with him, despite Zevran's open flirtatiousness, and the thought of asking her betrothed…_actually asking_ him to sleep with the witch was as painful as a blade to the gut.

And yet she could not bear to lose him or leave him.

So she had gone to him, covering her shame with determination and her pain with her love and Alistair had agreed.

Strangely, that had hurt more than anything else despite the fact she'd used all her guile and cunning to convince him it was the right thing to do...

And now they had departed and she was alone. The battle was on the morrow and she was spending what may be her last night alive trying not to think about Alistair in Morrigan's arms, his lips on her lips, his body against hers…his cock in her cunt.

Anger and despair threatened to overwhelm her, the need to scream and cry forcing adrenaline to surge through her body. Bare knuckles slammed into the cold stone wall as agonised rage tore through her, driving the pain from her mind as skin split and blood flowed freely across her fingers.

Suddenly she rushed from her room.

She passed _his _door, fortunately the blood rushing in her ears prevented any sounds from reaching her consciousness. On she ran through the corridors of Redcliffe, uncertain of where she was going until she spotted an open door leading to a balcony beyond. The room was in darkness, but the light of the moon was just enough that she could see the stonework balustrade glistening in the cold light and she rushed toward it, finally giving in to the wracking sobs that had been contained for too long.

So this was her penance…and how it hurt.

The blood that flowed from her hands was nothing compared to the tears that rolled down her cheeks. The coolness of the night seized upon them and chilled them to ice as they fell from her eyes and she drew in shuddering breaths to try to calm herself.

By Andraste's holy arse, this was what she wanted! She wanted Alistair to live and she wanted to be by his side!

So why then, was it so damned painful…

"Warden?" The voice was soft and rolling, heavily accented and full of care.

She quickly spun around to find Zevran Arainai standing in the shadows, his shirt and breeches in disarray.

"What are you…?"

She stopped as she spotted a naked serving girl running from the room, gathering her dress in her arms. The darkness prevented her from seeing her face but she could sense the girl's embarrassment. At least _this_ time, she had the good sense to close the door behind her.

"Oh, I see." Bronwen turned to leave. "I am sorry if I have disturbed you."

"Disturbed me, no." His perfect white teeth glinted in the moonlight. "I hadn't yet begun as such…but…what is this?"

His face darkened as he took her damaged hands in his and examined the ruined skin.

"Zevran…" She protested, trying to pull away but his grip was strong.

"Let me look at this." He insisted, pulling her toward the light of the moon. He frowned as he gently touched the wounds and then sat her down in a chair by the balustrade. "Stay here."

She stared out over the lake, feeling stupid and hurt as he disappeared into the room beyond. Bronwen hadn't particularly wanted to be found by anyone and yet there was a feeling of comfort in being with Zev. With him, there was never any pretence and he would never judge her, nor ask anything of her.

In his own way, he was the most honest of them all. Not bound by tradition like Sten or caught up in religion like Leliana. He didn't rely on drink like Oghren or have to live up to ideals like Wynne, and he was nowhere near as dry as Shale. He had all of Morrigan's wit but without the abrasiveness, and where Alistair was the warmth of the sun…Zevran was the heat of the night.

"Here we are." He had returned and knelt by her feet, a bowl of warm water in one hand and a soft towel in the other. "Be prepared I always say."

He winked up at her and she smiled despite herself as he gently dabbed the blood from her hands and cleaned the wounds across her knuckles.

"I am sorry if I have ruined your plans." Bronwen murmured softly. "I didn't realise anyone was in here."

"Hsst." He dismissively waved a hand in the air. "Glad I am that I was here. You know me, I always like to look out for a damsel in distress…especially one as beautiful and as passionate as yourself."

She watched in silence as he set down the bowl and took out a salve from a pouch on his waistband. It smelled faintly of spice and something bitter that she couldn't identify.

"Warden…" He began as he smoothed it over her skin. "As much as I am enjoying your company, why are you not with Alistair…is he the reason for your tears?"

Zevran's amber eyes travelled up to her face and when she met them, she was unable to stop a fresh tear from escaping.

"He is...that is he…" Her voice caught and she had to look away. "He is lying with Morrigan."

Saying it made it seem all the more real and she wept once more as her heart ached.

"No, no, no. You have it wrong." Zevran sighed, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from her eyes. "If I know anything at all about Alistair, it's that he loves you with all his heart and if he was going to…stray, then it would not be with that shrew I can assure you!"

"You don't know what you're talking about." Bronwen whispered, her voice hoarse and her temper beginning to flare.

"In this matter, I think I do." Zevran replied, a slight smile on his face. "You only need to listen to them bickering to know how he feels…"

"Have you suddenly gone deaf?" She snapped, jumping to her feet and glaring down at the assassin. "I tell you he is with her because that's where he is…at my invitation!"

She stepped away from the crouching elf, knocking him to the ground.

"He lies with her so that we can survive the battle, otherwise one of us will die!"

Her voice had risen more so than she had intended and she turned away, trying to control the pain that once more threatened her composure and also her relationship with her most treasured of friends.

"Forgive me Warden, but I don't understand." Zevran rose to his feet and slowly approached her.

She turned to meet his puzzled gaze and took a deep breath to still the storm of emotions that shook her to the core.

"Zev, when a Grey Warden slays an Archdemon, the Warden also dies." She saw his eyes widen as he took another step toward her. "Morrigan is…performing a ritual that will allow us to survive this. In order for things to happen, she must lie with a Warden and Riordan is far too gone with the taint and therefore…"

"Therefore she lies with your Alistair." He finished for her as the tears began to flow freely. "Oh...my dear Warden."

She felt the last vestiges of her reserve crumple as his arms circled her shoulders and she buried her face in his neck. He stroked her raven hair as she wept and whispered comfortingly in his native Antivan as he rocked her gently from side to side. She had never noticed before but he smelled of leather and honey, a bitter-sweet combination that was not unlike Zevran himself.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. "I know that it is only sex…but it hurts, Zev. It hurts so much."

"Shhh, Amora." He murmured, slipping his hands beneath her hair to cup her face and lift it up to his. "You don't have to ever apologise to me."

He placed a tender kiss on her forehead and leaned back.

"These tears, they fall because you are unhappy."

He kissed her eyelids and she felt her body begin to tremble.

"See how they make your skin glisten. Do not hide them…not from me."

Her pulse began to quicken as she felt the coolness of his lips upon her cheeks.

"You should not be sad, mi Amora, you have a chance at life with the man you love." His mouth hovered dangerously close to her own. "Would that I had that chance to love as you do…to love a woman like you…"

She could smell the spice on his breath and feel the hardness of his arousal as he pressed against her.

"Zevran…this is wrong." She breathed, subconsciously leaning closer toward him.

"I know." He replied, his hand sliding down her body to the belt at her waist. Deft fingers unbuckled it swiftly and he slid his fingers under the band of her drakeskin breeches into the cotton smallclothes beneath. "Do you want me to stop…?"

"I want…" Maker's breath, his fingers were in the soft curling black hair below.

"I want…" She could feel the cream of her own arousal moistening the folds of her sex as he pushed a smooth digit toward the nub of flesh that would make her yield to his ministrations.

"You want the pain to stop…if only for a moment." Zevran lowered his lips to her throat and began to tease at the delicate skin beneath her ear. "I can do that. It is a gift I would willingly give to you…if you would take it?"

_His hands upon her naked breasts as she bounces up and down upon his kingly shaft…milking his seed and conceiving a child that they, as Grey Wardens both will never have. _

_Alistair smiles as he climaxes and breaths her name…_

_Morrigan…_

"Do it, Zevran…I want this…I want you…."

His fingers found her then, and he pressed against her swollen pearl with agonising expertise, drawing forth a deep moan from the core of her being. His lips travelled over her jawline and eagerly sought her own. She felt his hot pink tongue inside her mouth as he kissed her forcefully, making her wince as he bit down on a lip that was already split and causing fresh blood to spurt forth and mix with their saliva.

She clawed at his back, tugging the shirt from his body so that it fell from his shoulders and slipped to the ground. Her nails worked bloody rents in his skin as his fingers became more insistent at her sex, pushing and teasing until her juices flowed freely soaking the fabric that still covered her.

She hadn't realised, but his other hand had been working the studded band that held up her breeches and now they were undone. Swiftly, he withdrew the hand that had been working her tender nub and he yanked the breeches down past her hips. Cool air bit at her heated skin and in the moonlight, her thatch was a black triangle glistening with the wetness of her need.

He offered her a wolfish smile as he stepped back, licking her bitterness from his fingers. In this light, his pale hair looked almost white and his tattoos stood out starkly from his darker skin. His body was lean and hard, each muscle clearly defined by years of training and he moved with inhuman grace.

Zevran was simply magnificent.

With a feral snarl, he pushed her back onto a table near the balcony and lifted her quite easily so that her buttocks rested on its cool surface. His lips found hers once more and they fought a battle for control as he sought to dominate her tongue with his own. His hands were now unlacing the hardened bulge beneath his own breeches and he pulled back a moment so she could better see.

His member was smaller than Alistair's, but he was already wet with pre-cum and as hard as stone. He grasped one of her hands and wrapped it around his shaft before returning his fingers to her aching slit, but she needed no such encouragement. His foreskin was velvety smooth as she began to milk him, sliding the sheath up and down his length causing him to pant with his want. As she did so, he found her nub again and pressed against it…coaxing sensation out of an organ already sensitive with desire and desperation.

Then he slid a finger inside her and her body writhed to the thrill of it. He followed with a second, teasing out her opening and spreading her cream around her hole. She moaned loudly at his attention and he clasped a hand over her mouth.

"Shhh Amora…" He whispered into her ear, all the while his fingers pumping in and out of her. "This is for us and us alone…a secret we will share, no?"

Bronwen nodded, eager to agree…anything to continue to feel the powerful sensations that ravaged her body, then she was being pulled forward and turned around so that her still armoured chest was now against the surface of the table. Strong hands pulled her arms behind her back and she found her wrists locked in Zevran's tight grasp. He restrained her easily with one hand while the other caressed her soft round buttocks and teased at her opening.

"Nearly there…" He moaned softly as she felt the tip of his shaft adding its own juice to her wet and ready sex. "Do you want me...?"

He pushed against her, teasing at her clitoris and slickened folds with his velvet hood.

"I want you…" She responded softly.

"Again." He pushed inside her a little, but withdrew almost immediately.

"I want you." The torture was exquisite and she felt his free hand knot itself in her raven hair.

"Again."

"I want you…I want you, Zevran!"

She almost cried out as he yanked her head back and stabbed his cock inside her so deep and so fast that she had no time to adjust. Pain and pleasure warred for control as her senses overloaded with the intimate penetration of her body, and she writhed in torment as he slowly withdrew leaving only his tip inside of her.

"Feels good, no?" He growled before plunging into her again, only this time she was ready for him and breathed in his shaft as he entered her.

What he lacked in girth and length, he made up for with experience and soon he settled into an alternating rhythm that stoked the flames of her lust and started the muscles of her inner walls twitching in anticipation of the climax to come. He released her hair and wrists before reaching a hand around her thighs to once more tease her clitoris as he fucked her, slow and deep. With the other, he grasped her hip and pulled himself into her harder and harder.

Bronwen could feel the combined fluids of their union running down her thighs and her body was starting to quiver as her orgasm began to build intensity. From the way he was hardening within her, she guessed she wasn't the only one close to the edge.

Placing her hands face down on the table either side of her head, she closed her eyes and let the feelings wash over her as animal passion and instinct took over her rational thought. Harder and harder Zevran pumped inside her and stronger and stronger the feelings became until…suddenly…yes!

She heard him cry out as his seed erupted into her, making her even more slick with the flow of it. It ran in hot streams over her clitoris, coating his fingers as he worked her and soon her own sex throbbed with spasms of pleasure as her heart began to pound and her head started to swim with the intense rapture of orgasm.

"Yes…yes…Alistair!"

She felt Zevran freeze within her as the name left her lips. Gently…slowly… he withdrew from her and stepped back.

"Zev…" She began, the haze of sensation ebbing quickly as her cheeks began to burn with shame.

"Shhh…say nothing, Amora. I knew who was in your heart when we began this."" He had retrieved the towel and began to cleanse his issue from her thighs before helping her to rise to her feet. He then pressed it to her sex as more of his seed emptied out of her.

"What?" Bronwen watched as the assassin laced his breeches and smiled at her.

"I have no claim on your heart, Amora just as _she_ has no claim on your beloved Alistair." Zevran stepped forward and kissed her tenderly. "What we shared just now was nothing more than a pleasantly erotic dream. I suggest we remember it as such."

There was a noise from beyond the door. Two voices, one female and one much more familiar…one that made her blood run cold.

Alistair.

"Damn that serving girl!" Zevran snarled as he gathered the towel and basin from the floor. "Warden, may I suggest you make yourself presentable as quickly as possible? Hurry!"

With fingers numb with fear, Bronwen quickly hitched up her breeches and secured them around her waist. She saw Zevran make his way to the shadows by the door and it was as if he vanished into the darkness there.

She rushed to the balcony and let the chill wind blow the last remnants of their exertions from her body, just as the door opened and the silhouette of a tall, powerfully built human male filled the space within.

"My love?" Alistair's soft voice carried across the floor like a whisper on the breeze.

She did not turn.

She dare not.

"Bronwen, I was looking for you." He was coming closer, she could feel the tension radiating out from him even at a distance.

"Is it done?" She asked, her voice low.

"I…that is…damn it all!" A sob choked off his answer and he paused. "Yes…it is done."

She turned at his sorrow and saw the tears on his beautiful chiselled face glistening in the moonlight. His eyes were so sad and his expression so desperate that her heart melted under his gaze and she ran to him, holding his great body in arms that trembled with love.

"Alistair." She breathed as she held him. "I am so sorry, my love. I should not have asked you to do this thing but I just couldn't stand to lose you…not now…not ever."

"Nor I you." He replied stroking her hair and squeezing her to his chest. "I just wish I hadn't had to…not with…it meant nothing to me, you know. By Andraste's Grace I swear it."

"Don't…" Fresh tears welled in her own eyes as she felt his body beneath the robe he was wearing. He had bathed…she could smell the fresh scent of soap.

"All I could think of was you…no, that sounds wrong…I didn't mean…" He stammered as he searched for the right words.

Could there ever be any?

"Alistair, please!" She begged, unwilling to hear more. "Just think of it as…as…"

She spotted Zevran over his shoulder, slipping silently from the room. She saw him nod once, his amber eyes gleaming from the light of the doorway and then he was gone.

"Just think of it as nothing more than a dream." She pulled back and gazed into Alistair's hazel eyes, her own pain and guilt mirrored in their surfaces. "A dream that will pass with the coming of the dawn."

"More like a nightmare…" He sighed, shaking his head. "I never want to remember it…ever."

He looked away from her then, his face pained and his hands grasping hers.

"Please my dear, I understand if you say no but…may I stay with you for the rest of the night?"

"Alistair…" Her eyes widened and she shook her head. Surely he could not mean to sleep with her…not after…

"No, no, no." Crimson rushed into his cheeks and he smiled weakly. "You misunderstand. I just want to wake up with you, knowing that you are my true wife to be…my true heart…and my truest love. Please Bronwen, let us at least share what little time remains before we throw ourselves to the darkspawn tomorrow. Who knows what our fate will be?"

One look into his pleading eyes softened what was left of her resolve and she gently stroked his strong, stubbled chin.

"The let us retire, beloved." She offered him a weak smile and placed an awkward kiss upon his cheek. "All will be different on the morrow."

Slowly they turned form the balcony and made their way out of the room but as she closed the door behind her, Bronwen could not help but think of Zevran and of the lingering taste of kisses.

Still, it was done now and whatever was to happen next, at least she and Alistair could face it together.


	2. A Cry In The Dark

A CRY IN THE DARK

Her screams echoed through the halls of the palace as unbearable pain tore through her body. Fists clenched tightly at the cotton cover of the mattress as intolerable pressure wrenched her gut into twisted spasms of pain such as she could never have imagined. Sweat, tears, blood and other bodily secretions all mixed together and pooled beneath her as the life within her belly struggled to be free.

"Come now, you must push!" Wynne's voice was unusually stern as she held her thighs apart, watching and waiting for the babe to be born.

"I can't Wynne…it hurts! Maker's Breath it hurts!" Bronwen Theirin cried out as one contraction ended and another began to bite deeply into her loins. It had been almost two days and still the child stubbornly refused to be born. Her resolve and her strength were both waning fast and black spots of oblivion had started to cloud inside her mind.

"Now listen to me, Your Highness." The old mage began softly, her voice rising with her words. "You survived the massacre of your family…You faced the darkspawn at Ostagar…You defeated the Archdemon in this very city not more than nine months ago! If you can do all that, you can damn well birth this child! Now push!"

"Arghhh!" The scream was ripped from her lips as her body responded to Wynne's insistent tone and she felt herself tearing as the head of her new-born burst forth into the world.

"That's it! That's it!" Wynne called excitedly. "Not long now, Your Highness! One more push should do it!"

"Wynne…I…can't…" The respite of unconsciousness beckoned and Bronwen felt herself falling into its welcome arms.

"No! NO!" The panic in the mage's voice jarred her back to wakefulness as another contraction stabbed her soul.

Agony robbed her of further thought as she bore down onto the mattress and pushed for all that she was worth. In her ears, she could hear the rushing of her blood and yet there was something more…something that made her shriek with terror as her body began to fail and her heart pounded dangerously fast inside her chest.

The distant chatter of the darkspawn sought to drag her soul to the Deep Roads even as the babe finally broke free and slid into the welcoming arms of the waiting mage.

"Here, child…Help me now!"

Bronwen could hear Wynne barking orders to Arianne. Her elven maidservant had stubbornly refused to leave her side all week and had mopped the sweat from her brow as tenderly as her mother had once done when she was ill as a child. Now, through a haze of delirium she saw her take the babe from Wynne's arms.

"Is it…does it live…I can't hear…" She tried to rise up from the bed, but her limbs refused to cooperate and her head seemed to be sinking into the saturated pillow beneath.

Their silence brought on a moment of panic, a terror unlike any other and then she heard a cry…a soft whimper that brought a faint smile to her lips even as her eyes refused to focus on the source of the sound.

"You have a son, Your Highness..." Wynne seemed far away, her voice nothing more than a whisper. "You hear? You and King Alistair have a son…"

"And he is so beautiful…" Arianne's lilting voice was full of wonder. "He looks not unlike my own son did as a babe…his features are so delicate…so fine…"

"Your Highness…?" Wynne's voice was full of alarm. "Oh no! Arianne, call for help and clean towels, quickly girl!"

"Wynne…the deep roads are calling…" Bronwen felt her limbs growing lighter as above her head, the high vaulted ceiling of The Dead Trenches came into focus.

"She's bleeding…badly! Oh Maker, no!"

_Strange. How could she be bleeding…she is not wounded! But wait, there in the distance…darkspawn! _

_Twin blades slide from her back, Shadow is at her side, his yellow eyes glowing fiercely and his sharp white teeth bared in a ferocious snarl. Oddly, she does not remember summoning the great wolf…_

"Stay with me, Your Highness! It is not your time…it cannot be your time!"

_They are charging, but she is faster. Her blades move effortlessly in a whirlwind of death…then at her side…Duncan, her Grey Warden recruiter and Commander! But, how can he be here? He died at Ostagar…_

"Get Alistair in here, now! She is slipping away from me!"

_Duncan shakes his head, a frown on his dark face and points to the rear. Who is that there who is waiting for her? Golden hair gleaming in the firelight and a ready grin on his lips…_

"What's happening Wynne? I could hear her cries from the throne room…Maker's breath look at the blood! NO! Bronwen, my love! Please, please for Andraste's sake don't leave me now!"

_The golden rogue beckons to her. Doesn't he realise there are darkspawn to fight? She looks to Duncan but he seems so angry and also so very sad. Once more he points to the figure…gesturing for her to go to him…_

"I love you, do you hear me? I can't do this without you!"

_He walks with the grace of a cat, all swagger, stealth and blatant sexuality. That smile of his…that intoxicating smile...the way it almost reaches his long pointed ears…_

"We have a son, love! Don't give up! We have a son!"

_Well, well, well! And here I thought you were always ready to fight! Don't you give up, Amora…You come back to me. Do you not know we have a son…?_

Glistening amber eyes burn away death's illusion as blessed relief brings the comfort of darkness.

* * *

Frightened grey eyes called to him through the darkness…

"Bronwen, mi Amora!"

Panic surged through his veins and stole the breath from his body as Zevran Arainai jolted awake bathed in a thin film of bitter sweat.

For two days now, he hadn't been able to get _her_ out of his mind. Certainly, he had spent the best part of the last nine months trying to free himself of her image and the memory of experiencing her willing body during their brief encounter in Redcliffe, but lately…

Bronwen Cousland…

No, tsk tsk tsk…that was wrong for a start.

Bronwen _Theirin_, Warden Commander and Queen Consort of Ferelden was the last person he needed to be thinking about right now!

"Zevran take it easy, Querido." Soft hands brushed against his back as Felix stirred from his slumber. "You are dreaming again…"

The boy drifted back off to sleep, his long black lashes fluttering softly and his muscular chest rising and falling with the rhythm of restful slumber. How Zevran envied the young bard at that moment…to be able to sleep with such ease was something he had craved for too long now.

Ever since _that_ night

The night she found him alone in the castle with tears running down her face and knuckles bleeding from angry attacks on walls of stone. The night she told him that her beloved Alistair was lying with the witch, getting her with child so that they both might survive the battle with the Archdemon. The night her pain had been so great, that all he could do was offer her comfort in the only way he knew how. The night she had finally given herself to him, surrendering her body if not her heart and taken him within her in a passionate, desperate union that ended with the cry of another's name on her lips even as she filled with his seed.

'_Alistair_!'

Oh yes…that had hurt.

"Mierda...!"

He angrily threw off the silken sheets and strode over to the window, bathing his naked heated skin in the coolness of the night air. A carafe of wine had somehow managed to remain unopened from earlier in the evening and Zevran poured himself a glass and drank deeply. The rich purple liquid appeared almost black in the pale moonlight and he swirled it around as his mind drifted back once again to the taste of her lips.

This was ridiculous. She was just a woman, not even an elf at that!

So why oh why did she haunt his dreams with an intensity that made him shake like a fine Antivan colt? He hadn't felt like this since Rinna…another memory best lost to the passage of time and yet stubbornly refusing to dwindle away. It was most disturbing and frankly, he had much more important matters to attend to.

The Guild was almost his for the taking.

Since returning to Antiva, he had put plans into action that would have fazed a lesser man. The Crows had been in disarray, candidates fighting over the leadership as did feral dogs in the street when they find a rubbish pile. The Blight had not ravaged the Antivan shores as it had in Ferelden, but its impact had been felt when Guild Master Ravello had accepted a contract to monopolise on the black market. The need for weapons and food had increased in the border towns as more and more, they fell to the darkspawn sword and Ravello had insisted there was money to be made. Assassins were hired to kill the more reputable merchants for a paltry piece of what was a limited and certainly questionable profit!

It must have surely have cost more to hire the Crows, than for the return they were to receive once the matter was taken care of!

There seemed a mystery in his accepting the contract and those unfortunate enough to be assigned to the task were all coincidentally, outspoken of Ravello's methods and thinking. How strange it was then, that all five of them were killed in the course of their duties…such a tragedy and a loss to the Crows to be sure.

It was at this point, that Ravello himself had fallen to the poison blade…another tragedy, no?

Then it began to get out of hand. Guild member turned upon guild member, the art of killing ignored for the sake of brutal, thoughtless murder. Hah. How the Orlesians would have laughed at their pathetic efforts…

However, not all the Crows had become so narrow of thought and devoid of purpose. Zevran had managed to find certain individuals who still clung to the idea that the Guild could be great once more…under the right leadership of course. Together, they had gathered to them those who held the same ideals and through skill, guile and of course natural charm, Zevran had risen to become that leader and challenged the feuding members of the Guild.

One by one, they had fallen to his blades and more had rallied to his cause. Mostly, it had to be said, the younger Crows and those who sought to raise their profile within the organisation…but that was no bad thing. New blood and so on, yes?

In the morning, they were to meet with Cesare Falco, the last of the old Guild leaders and certainly, the most formidable. Zevran had been very surprised to receive the request. It was either a desperate gamble by the old man or genuine offer of an alliance, which was not to taken lightly. Falco certainly had some of the finest assassins, excluding Zevran himself of course, in all Antiva in his corner and if an agreement could be made, the Crows would once again be an organisation with both purpose and power.

An intoxicating thought that had led a night of premature celebration.

The younger assassins and bards had gathered at the safe-house of Marianna Louise, the best and most hospitable whore in all of Antiva…and coincidentally, also one of the most discreet. No one could find her safe-houses unless she wanted them too and as far as betraying them, she had been one of his mother's oldest friends and was the only other person in the world he trusted…

Besides the Warden of course.

Zevran sighed and poured himself another glass.

Over the course of the night, he had become exceedingly drunk, as haunting images of her in pain, fighting an unknown enemy had refused to leave his mind. The more alcohol he consumed, the more strongly his subconscious mind tried to cripple him with thoughts of her...just lying there…screaming.

It had become intolerable.

Eager for distraction, he had sought out Felix, a beautiful youth with tousled black hair and the eyes of deer. The young man was a bard, originally from Orlais but now joined to the Crows. He played the lyre and sang with the voice of an angel and yet in the bedroom, he was like a demon of the Fade…all tongue, tight ass and clawing need.

Of course, it wasn't the only time he'd been with him. Felix had flirted madly with Zevran from the moment they met!

The first time he'd felt the boy's lips on his cock had been early in their acquaintance, just after a rather desperate fight with some of Ravello's best and most loyal Crows and the joy of simply being alive was overwhelming and reason enough for a tumble! Later, as he had spilled into the youth's perfect asshole, he'd marvelled at his skill as a lover and for those few fevered hours, he could forget the guild, the darkspawn and the Warden…well, almost.

Sometimes, in the darkness of the night when he closed his eyes and entered the boy, Zevran could only see _her_ on that table in Redcliffe, open…wet with desire…and breathing heavily with need. In his mind he heard her speak the words…_I want you, Zevran_… and then he would feel the stirrings of his climax as he pictured her writhing beneath him.

Tonight though…he had been unable to find relief.

Felix had been easily satisfied and the wine now washed away the taste of his pleasure, but Zevran just could not, how you say…perform. The feelings of fear, of pain and of loneliness he was experiencing were just so overwhelming…and yet he knew that they weren't entirely his own.

However, she had Alistair.

What could Zevran give her that Alistair could not?

They were happy, so he had heard and she was with child if the reports were to be believed! A perfect little family with her perfect Templar husband and a perfectly Royal life…

A life he needed to stay out of.

A life he could not be part of.

A life…

A life he would have given everything to live with her…

Zevran shook his head angrily as a tear rolled down his cheek. What was this? He was no stupid empty-headed girl with dreams of love's feeble embrace to be feeling like this!

He quickly choked back the last dregs of the wine and felt its heat running down his throat just as a soft hand began to trace the umber curves of the tattoo sweeping across his back.

"Zevran, will you not come to bed?" Felix regarded him with sleepy eyes and yet his hand strayed to the golden hair above his member, betraying his intent.

"I…no." Zevran shrugged away from his touch and stared up at the moon as it swam in the clouds of night. "I am sorry for disturbing you but I am…restless. Please, return to your slumber. I will join you later."

"Zevran…" The boy purred, his hand now stroking him up and down. "You know I can help you. We can play a game if you wish. I can be very…inventive!"

"Ho ho! Of this I have no doubt." He allowed himself a smile and gently removed Felix's hand from his groin.

Felix mistook his smile for encouragement and came before him, suggestively wiggling his pert buttocks from side to side.

"I can be whoever you want me to be…" He grinned. "That name you call in your sleep…what was it again…?"

"Felix." A scowl darker than the night outside crossed Zevran's face. She did not need to be brought into this sordid little encounter.

"A girl's name…ah yes! Bronwen…that is it! Is she a whore, a past lover perhaps! Do I need to be jealous…urkkk!"

The boy was up against the wall in a heartbeat, Zevran's arm across his throat as a knife appeared from nowhere and pressed against his ribs.

"You do not ever…EVER…speak her name again, do you understand?"

Felix nodded urgently, his eyes wide with terror as a trickle of urine ran down his thigh.

"If I ever hear it from your lips again I will end you, do you hear me?" Zevran stepped back, the knife still clutched in hands whose knuckles were as white as stone. "Now take a sovereign from the dresser and get out. I paid for a fuck and a pleasant distraction and I have to say, you have failed spectacularly on both counts."

The boy hesitated, hurt and confusion warring in his face.

"I said get out!" Another tear escaped the elven assassin's eye as he yelled at the bard and he was grateful he was silhouetted against the pale light from outside.

The boy hurriedly gathered his clothes from the floor and fled from the room as Zevran punched the wall. His knuckles split against the stonework and he stared at them as dark blood pooled around the base of his fingers.

_His face darkens as he takes the hands of the Warden in his own._

"_Zevran…" She protests as he examines the ruined skin covering her knuckles._

"_Let me look at this." He insists and then kneels before her with a bowl of water and a soft towel. He begins to clear away the blood. _

"_I am sorry if I have ruined your plans." She murmurs softly. "I didn't realise anyone was in here."_

"_Hsst." He dismisses her concerns as he retrieves a healing salve from one of his belt pouches. "Glad I am that I was here. You know me, I always like to look out for a damsel in distress…especially one as beautiful and as passionate as yourself."_

_She is crying. _

"_Warden…" He smoothes it over her skin, secretly thrilled by the intimacy of the gesture yet terrified at the deep emotions being stirred deep within himself. "As much as I am enjoying your company, why are you not with Alistair…is he the reason for your tears?"_

"_He is...that is he…" She looks away, her voice tight with pain. "He is lying with Morrigan."_

_He talks to her, tells her it cannot be so and she is angry. Unbelievably it is the truth. He understands the reason, to save her he too would try anything, but how could Alistair leave her on this of all nights! She looks so beautiful, so vulnerable…if only she were his. Nothing would tear him from her side. _

_His arms are around her now, pulling her near feeling her heart pounding beneath the armour she still wears._

"_You should not be sad, mi Amora, you have a chance at life with the man you love." Her lips are so close and he can almost taste her. "Would that I had that chance to love as you do…to love a woman like you…"_

"_Zevran…this is wrong." Yet, she does not pull away._

"_I know." But he doesn't care. He wants to feel her and his hands slip beneath her waist into the heat of her sex. "Do you want me to stop…?"_

"_I want…I want…" She feels wet, yet she hesitates still…_

"_You want the pain to stop…if only for a moment." He kisses her sublime throat. "I can do that. It is a gift I would willingly give to you…if you would take it?"_

"_Do it, Zevran…I want this…I want you…"_

_Her lips are bleeding as he hungrily devours her and her musky cream covers his fingers…she is ready for him…_

A damaged hand reached out for the empty wine glass on the table and Zevran stared as it shattered into pieces after being hurled against the stone wall. He wasn't even aware he had thrown it until the sound reached his ears.

So this was how it was to be. Somewhere out there, the woman he cared about more than he would dare admit to himself was probably sleeping comfortably in the arms of a man who did not deserve her…enjoying the warmth of the night and the feelings of being loved and content.

But for him…for Zevran Arainai…the cold light of morning could not come quickly enough.


	3. A Devastating Truth

A DEVASTATING TRUTH

"Shhhh…shhhh. What a fine pair of lungs you have my son!" Alistair beamed as he reached into the cradle to pick up the crying babe. "Though I have to say, if you keep this up your mother will think I am teasing you again for being so small….yes she will…Oh yes she will!"

His face was a picture of joy as he cooed and tickled the infant and Alexander, though only three months old, laughed along with him as heartily as if they were sharing a secret joke.

Bronwen Theirin smiled broadly at the scene and felt a warm glow spread over her as her husband lavished his attention on her boy. Ever since the birth, Alistair had been a marvel. His attentive nature and kind heart had made him an ideal father and the love he showered on the babe was both unconditional and as deep as the ocean.

The entire kingdom of Ferelden had rejoiced at his birth, nobles and commoners alike eager to hear news of the new heir apparent. Alexander Duncan Theirin had been an instant hit with the people and was seen as the herald of a new age of peace and prosperity. Ferelden finally had its Handsome Heroic King, its Grey Warden Commander Queen-Consort and now it had its happy, mewling, giggling heir!

All was right in Thedas…

Only, that was far from the truth.

The birth had been difficult on Bronwen, her existence almost ending as what life force she had was given to the child within her. She had vague recollections of the tortuous labour…snatched memories of crippling pain, of drowning in a red sea and also of the insistent call of the darkspawn whispers as they beckoned her into the deep roads.

She also remembered voices calling to her in this world. The Circle Mage Wynne fighting off death with her magic and her mysterious spirit…Alistair clutching her hand in despair, begging her to stay…and also the needful wails of Alexander himself, newly born and unwilling to be denied the mother he had only just met.

But it had been the elven rogue with the golden hair who had called her back…

The elven rogue with the smile that made her heart leap, and a face so beautiful he would put many a woman to shame. The elven rogue who had been raised by whores and trained to be an assassin since boyhood.

Just how he had been in her vision, the Maker alone knew. She remembered seeing Duncan and the advancing darkspawn as if they were both in a haze, but the presence of Zevran Arainai had been so strong it was almost as if he had been at her side.

Almost as if he was _meant_ to be there.

So what did that mean for her marriage to Alistair…

For a year now, she had clung to an illusion of happiness with a man who deserved a lot better than she was able to give. Alistair had fallen for her so early in their relationship that she had been swept up and carried along by the tides of his affection.

He had courted her in almost old-fashioned way, his innocence, soft humour and gentle charm greatly at odds with his chiselled features and magnificent body. Indeed if it were anyone but Alistair, she would have sworn that someone so devastatingly handsome would have slept in as many beds as he had hairs on his head. But he was an innocent, a man who had decided to give his heart and his virginity only to the woman he loved, and from the very moment she saw him in the ruins at Ostagar, Bronwen had known he was the kind of man her devoted parents would have dreamed about for her as a husband.

His shy approaches had been endearing and intriguing, drawing her to him as a moth to the flame. When they fought the darkspawn together, they complimented each other's fighting styles perfectly! He the Templar warrior…a stalwart defender and fierce aggressor with the sword and shield… and she, trained as a ranger in the forests surrounding Highever…master of the twin blades and with duelling skills that made her as deadly as the great wolf that she summoned to her side.

It had not been surprising then to find herself in his tent one night, passionately taking from him that which he had freely given along with his heart. Maker knows he had declared his love for her long before he ever filled her with his mighty shaft, but the way he surrendered his trust to her as she guided him inside, and the way he erupted into her body with tears in his eyes and love on his lips, left no doubt that she was the one he wanted to spend his life with.

She should have stopped then, backed away before she was drawn deeper into his life, but in him she found comfort and care, and a love that promised never to hurt her and never to leave.

Arl Rendon Howe had murdered her family and destroyed her life but with Alistair, she had a chance, a real chance. She would never leave him as she had been left, never hurt him as she had been hurt, never cheat on him as he would never cheat on her…

And then came the flashing eyes and that lascivious smile…

Oh yes, Zevran had made it quite clear that he was attracted to her and wouldn't mind her in his bed and by Andraste she had been so tempted.

At first, their talk had been harmlessly flirtatious banter between two people who knew of their attraction to each other and were comfortable in saying so, but then he had asked her to his tent and there had been something in his eyes that she hadn't seen before. Something that called to her deep inside and threatened to burn away her sense of loyalty and duty to the man she had given herself to.

The fires that burned in the heart and loins of Zevran Arainai were all consuming and were she even to warm herself there for a little while, her body and soul would be consumed.

So she turned aside from him, explained that she was with Alistair and that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. Oh, how the bitter lies had fell from her lips wrapped up in the sweetest of intentions. After that, things were never quite the same between them until that fateful night when Alistair had taken Morrigan to his bed.

Of course, she had talked him into it and knew that it was for both their sakes, but how it hurt to have him of all people, a man she thought she could love, lying with another woman to get her with child, something that they would probably never have.

It was then she had found the welcoming arms of the elf…

He had comforted her as she wept, mopped the blood from her knuckles after she had punched the wall in despair and held her even as Alistair held the witch. What happened after that was both a dream and a nightmare.

Hurt and alone, she had yielded to Zev's ardent passion without a thought for either him or Alistair. Their union had been swift and frantic, not the passion fuelled experience she had so often dreamed about. He had taken her quite roughly in his haste to be inside her but she wanted it like that, wanted to feel like she was being loved and yet punished at the same time. With each stroke of his cock he slaked her needful thirst for him and avenged her against Alistair's infidelity, freed her from the trap of her own making in becoming Queen-Consort and eased the ever present loneliness inside her heart.

How she had shuddered as he finally spent himself inside her, and how she hated herself for calling out the name of another man.

When the orgasm tore through her body, it had been Alistair's name on her lips…even though it had been Zevran's face in her mind's eye.

To make matters worse, it had been _his_ seed that began to grow inside of her that very night.

A child of desperation, born of two worlds, a joining of elf and human.

How she wished she had known before he left her.

* * *

After the defeat of the Archdemon, things were so frantic that she did not have time to consider anything.

Ferelden needed her services as Warden Commander at Vigil's Keep, to fight against a nightmare enemy unlike any darkspawn she had ever encountered. Thus, she had raced off to deal with this new threat even before she had even had the chance to formalise arrangements for her marriage to Alistair at his coronation in six-month's time.

He had been unable to accompany her on the journey as duty called in the Free Marches and Zevran himself had long since disappeared from Ferelden, but she had made some good friends during the mission including Nathaniel Howe of all people! The son of her old enemy had become one of her most staunch supporters and as a newly joined Grey Warden, he was her most trusted soldier.

It was after the crisis was averted, accompanying him on a visit to his sister in Amaranthine that she had first noticed the changes stirring within her body and it was Delilah Howe who had been able to tell Bronwen Theirin, Commander of the Grey, that she was carrying a child.

Swiftly, she had made her way back to Denerim and waited anxiously for Alistair's return before bringing him the news that he was to be a father once more, only this time the child was theirs to raise. The Kingdom would have its heir and they would have a family.

She had been so happy for a time, Alistair's infectious joy and unceasing love lifting her up into a state of rapture and almost succeeding in convincing her that they could be happy for the rest of their lives. The royal physicians monitored her condition closely and offered all the assistance they could, but it was to Wynne of the Circle of Magi that she turned to for her care. The Spirit Healer had rushed to her side almost immediately and had been as a mother to her. As the babe grew, Wynne estimated that the child had been conceived around the time of the ending of the Blight and the death of the Archdemon…

It was only then that the walls of reality came crashing down upon her.

Though she had certainly spent many a night with Alistair during that time, she hadn't fallen with child until she had felt the heat of Zevran's release inside her sex.

Maker help her! The babe was his...

Alistair was not the father.

Though a part of her had wanted desperately to believe that the baby was his, something deep within Bronwen's soul had known all along that it simply wasn't so. As time passed and her belly swelled with the new life that was growing inside her womb, she had tried everything to find Zevran. She had sent out couriers and messengers to the four corners of Thedas carrying a simple message of greeting and invitation, but there had been no word, no reply…nothing.

In desperation she had turned to Leliana, asking the former bard if she knew of anyone, anywhere who could trace the elusive former Crow but all her possible leads had come to naught and Leliana, though well-meaning and of good intent, had started to ask too many questions.

Alistair too, had become suspicious of her insistence that she find him, his patience stretched to breaking point as he worried desperately about her growing concern affecting not only her health, but the health of the unborn babe within her.

Finally, she had to admit that maybe Zevran did not want to be found…or worse still, the Crows had already found him. The sorrow and pain that lanced through her heart as she considered the possibility that he had been killed had shaken her to the very core. She was torn by a deep sense of grief held in check by cruel uncertainty that had her taking to her sick-bed, unwilling to face what was a devastating truth…

The truth that she had fallen so deeply in love with the Antivan assassin that the idea of living in the world without him was almost more than she could bear…

* * *

Tears threatened to fall from her eyes as she watched her husband pick up her son and cradle him as tenderly as a flower. He was as content as she had ever seen him and he smiled broadly as Alexander cooed and chuckled softly in his safe arms. He stood proud as any parent and swayed gently as he rocked the babe from side to side. Then his brow creased a little as he studied him intently.

"Hey…come here!" A grin broke out across his lips as he suddenly turned to face her. "His eyes are turning…look!"

Swallowing her unhappiness, Bronwen moved to his side and laid her hand on his muscular arm. "What's that my love?"

"Here, look!" Alistair nodded as Alexander searched for his mother with eyes that were indeed turning from baby blue to a richer, deeper colour.

"Isn't that great?" Alistair leaned over and placed a warm kiss upon her cheek. "I mean, of course, if he had my eyes he'd only be as sexy as me, but with those he'll break hearts I tell you."

Bronwen gasped, the blood draining from her face as she found herself staring into glittering amber orbs, so like those of the assassin…

"I mean it's unusual though..." Alistair continued, oblivious to her rising tension. "He doesn't look much like me but I thought he might have my eyes. It's what people always say about babies isn't it? They have their mother's looks and their father's eyes, something like that anyhow…"

He laughed a little and then a shadow crossed over his face as he looked at her directly.

"Funny thing though, your eyes are grey. I wonder which side of the family the gold comes from…"

"Your Majesty, your son has such a long way to go before the colour of his eyes is set." Wynne strode into the nursery and shook her head. "He is barely three months old!"

"Hmm. I guess you're right." He replied, smiling as he laid Alexander back into his cradle. "He's got such a long way to go…yes he has…yes he has…!"

The babe grumbled and whimpered, a sign that told Bronwen he was hungry and she was grateful when Wynne began shooing her husband out of the room.

"Arl Eamon has been looking for you, Alistair!" She folded her arms over her chest and raised a reproachful eyebrow. "The nobles have gathered for you to hear their petitions and it is time to address them."

"Couldn't we just tell them I'm sick or something? Say I've sprained my ankle practicing for all those tedious balls!" Alistair grinned, holding up his hands as Wynne began to speak. "I know, I know…duty calls. It's just that I'd rather be here, with my family."

He cast one last look at Alexander and gathered Bronwen into his powerful embrace before kissing her on the forehead.

"Take care of him my dear, the country needs me…apparently!" Alistair slowly walked toward the door, his royal robes flowing about him as he moved. "Just don't do anything exciting while I'm gone, like teaching him sword fighting or that summoning woodland creatures thing you do…unless it's bunnies, he likes bunnies!"

The door was closed behind him as he left and Bronwen felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Smiling fondly, she loosened her gown and slid a plump full breast from beneath the silken fabric and gathered Alexander to her bosom. He quickly found her nipple and his whimpers disappeared as he hungrily drank of her milk.

"Golden eyes indeed." Wynne began, taking a seat opposite as Bronwen sat upon a cushioned chair to feed her son. "I think it is time for truth between us."

"What do you mean?" Her heart began to thump painfully in her chest.

"Oh come now, Your Highness." Wynne frowned as she sat forward in her seat. "I have known you too long for these kind of games. How much longer do you think you can keep up this charade? It is hardly fair."

"I really don't know what you're talking about." Bronwen adjusted herself as Alexander continued to drink from her breast and she felt a flush of guilt begin to burn across her face.

The old mage scowled as she waved her finger at her. "Bronwen Theirin, your parents would be ashamed of you! The Cousland's were a noble family, a decent people and never had I known them to lie…until now. The older Alexander gets, the more he will begin to show his true heritage, his elven heritage…"

Bronwen looked up in alarm but Wynne waved her hand dismissively.

"Yes I know who the real father of your child is. I have known since the day I birthed him and fought for your life, for I too felt him pulling you back from the void!"

Tears began to spill freely down the face of the Warden Commander as she looked hopelessly at the mage before her.

"Wynne…I…"

She looked down to the babe at her breast as her distress unsettled the lad. Gently, she lifted him from her and settled his tummy before placing him back in his cradle to sleep. With a nod of her head, she led Wynne toward the great open fire at the end of the room and indicated that they should take a seat.

"I never meant for any of this." She whispered softly. "At first I thought he was Alistair's…I wanted him to be Alistair's, but then I knew the truth and it seemed too late to say anything."

"Go on." A softer tone had crept back into Wynne's voice and she reached out a hand to lay it on her knee sympathetically.

"As soon as you told me how far along I was, I knew it wasn't his. The night my son was conceived, I didn't lie with Alistair…I was with Zevran." Saying it out loud to another person made it all the more real and Bronwen drew a deep shuddering breath as the tears began to pour form her eyes. "Alistair was with Morrigan that night, performing an ancient ritual that was to save us both by bringing a child into the world that could carry the essence of the Archdemon."

"You let him engage in Blood Magic with that...that…harridan! What were you thinking?" The old mage's eyes widened as she stared at Bronwen in shock.

"I was thinking that he deserved better than to end up dead!" She snapped. "I was thinking that a life without Alistair was no life at all and we both deserved better than that! It was a stupid, rash decision that I made Wynne, but Maker knows I'm paying the price now."

The mage sighed heavily and steepled her fingers. "I don't approve, I can't, but I do understand. The things we do for love are not always so…black and white, but just how did that wretched Antivan end up involved in all this?"

"I struggled to live with the consequences of my decision, Wynne. I felt angry, dirty and I sought a place of solitude, but then I found myself alone with him and I didn't care anymore." Bronwen dug the nails of her fingers into her palms as the urge to scream became almost overwhelming. "I know it was wrong, I did then, but I wanted to feel something Wynne, something other than pain, betrayal and…and…Maker help me, Wynne…I wanted to feel love…"

"But Alistair loves you, doesn't he?" Wynne looked confused, her soft grey brows furrowing over her bright blue eyes.

"Oh yes, he loves me Wynne, as much as a man can love a woman. It's me…I do not love him! I thought I could and so help me, I tried. After experiencing his love, his care and...well, and his virginity, I thought I could come to love him. Then when I pushed him onto the throne, I only felt it right to stand at his side and be the wife and the support that he so desperately needed."

She began to shake as emotions long repressed finally began to ravage her body.

"I thought I could live without love. Duty and sacrifice, that's what being a Grey Warden is all about isn't it? What right had I to ignore all that, all for a slim chance at something worthwhile with an elven assassin who'd be as likely to end up in the arms of another within the month? I made my choice for the good of Ferelden and now, now I am adrift…"

Racking sobs burst forth as Bronwen dropped to her knees and surrendered to her pain. For a few moments, she simply sat there until gentle arms clasped her to soft robes as Wynne cradled her head against her chest.

"Oh my dear, what you have done is turn aside from your heart and that is what haunts you now." The mage comfortingly stroked her hair as Bronwen fought to control her anguish. "While I can't pretend to understand what you saw in that rogue, I did see the look he gave you when you were formally introduced as Alistair's betrothed and I wondered that he left court so quickly. It pains me to say this, but with Alexander growing so quickly, you need to make a decision and not necessarily one of the head."

"What do you mean?" Bronwen looked up into Wynne's eyes and was surprised to see them brimming with tears of her own.

"I have heard rumours…rumours that make me wonder that Zevran may yet still live."

"How…How do you know this?"

"One of our new apprentices is from Antiva City." Wynne chewed her lip thoughtfully then continued. "He says that the Crows were involved in some kind of internal war and that now, one of the leaders is an elf with golden hair, a renegade returned…"

"That must be him!" Bronwen rose to her feet, her heart pumping and hope giving strength to her limbs. "I must know if he…"

"Wait, wait wait…!" Wynne laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. "You are the Queen-Consort of Ferelden. You simply cannot go rushing off to Antiva based on a rumour. Do you really wish to do something that would put your life and the life of your infant son in danger?"

Bronwen slumped back into her chair and placed her head in her hands. "So what am I to do Wynne?"

"You need to get away from here, just for a little while, somewhere where you can be yourself and work out just what it is that you want. Arianne can look after the baby and I can arrange for a wet-nurse to stay for a few days. I will remain here too and watch over both him and Alistair."

Bronwen looked up dubiously but the old mage raised her brow.

"Don't look at me so, young lady. You have to do this and the way I see it, you have a two options. If you wish to remain with Alistair, you must tell him the truth about Alexander and hope that he will understand enough to forgive you. It will be hard and he will be understandably hurt, but if you really want to make it work with him, it is the only thing you can do.

On the other hand, if you wish to find Zevran and tell him of your heart, then he too needs to know the truth of the matter in that he is a father! Whether or not he is ready or willing to put aside his murderous lifestyle to become your partner in all things, he should at least be given the chance to be a part of Alexander's life. It is a hard choice you have to make, but time is running out and very soon Alistair will begin to ask questions that you can no longer avoid. To continue to lie to him…in the end it would destroy you both."

With that, Wynne rose to her feet and dabbed gently at eyes that were wet with her own tears.

"I so wish it hadn't come to this. Alistair is a fine young man and a good husband and father. I confess, I never thought much of Zevran other than he was a murderous rake with a roving eye, but he did seem to have a strong attachment to you and maybe that is to his credit.

As for where you should seek your answers, you have never been more yourself than when you were with the other Grey Wardens. I'm sure that as Warden Commander there must be duties that could demand your attention, either at Soldiers Peak or even at Vigil's Keep. I hear there is another new batch of potential recruits there. I'm sure Seneschal Garavel would welcome a visit from his Commander?"

Wynne took a deep steadying breath as she smoothed down her robes and shook her head.

"I leave you to yourself now, Your Highness. Please consider my counsel and take heart. The road may be dark, but there is always light to guide your path if you search hard enough for it. Good day, Your Highness, and take care."

Bronwen Theirin stared mutely into the flames as the mage swept gracefully out of the room.

Whatever decision was to be made, the truth had to be told otherwise she was not only dishonouring those men whom she claimed to care for, but also her family and the memory of those who had fought so that she might live.

As for the consequences…

Well, they would be hers to bear.


	4. House Of Crows

HOUSE OF CROWS

The longsword upon the desk was as finely crafted a weapon as Zevran had ever seen.

The hilt was bound in the finest Orlesian silk and sat as comfortably in the hand as if it were merely an extension of the same. The pommel was chased through with gleaming silverite, its glittering lines tracing the pattern of a fearsome dragon across its breadth and as for the blade…never before had he seen such a thing of beauty that was made from the bone of an ancient dragon.

Grinning from ear to ear, he rose to his feet and swung the blade around his body. It seemed to cut the very air as he whirled it from one side to the other and there was something eerily familiar about the sword, something that made him _want_ to wield it and keep it close.

"Just where did you say you got this sword?" He asked the cocksure thief standing at the foot of the table.

"In Ferelden Master Arainai, from under the very noses of the Grey Warden's at Vigil's Keep." The elven woman smiled as her green eyes finally caught his gaze. "I had heard tales of wonder concerning the sword known as Vigilance and I knew that if I were to present it to you in tribute, you would be assured of our loyalty."

"Oh...is that so?" Zevran reluctantly slid the blade back into its silverite chased scabbard and casually relaxed in the great chair behind him. "If you managed to steal it so easily then I am indeed impressed however, I doubt a keep full of Wardens would have failed to notice your stoic companion over there…so what did he do? Dance provocatively to distract their attention?"

"_Vashedan, Bas_!" The stone-faced qunari lurched forward, his sweeping horns almost scraping the top of the ceiling as he snarled and glowered dangerously.

With a barely perceptible nod of his head, Zevran gestured to the two Crow attendees hovering in the doorway to ready their blades. The qunari would be dead before he hit the floor.

The elven thief accompanying him reached out her small hands and grasped the giant warrior around the arm, her face betraying her own alarm at the outburst and yet there was a gleam in her eye that was almost lustful as she gently stroked some calm into the lumbering beast.

"Forgive my companion Master Arainai…he is proud and somewhat rash." She fluttered her eyelashes and pouted her lips in what Zevran assumed passed for flirtatiousness in her opinion and then smiled broadly. "Brandt is my protector, and my associate of long standing ever since becoming _Tal'Vashoth_. Former Master Ravello never objected to his presence and he was always very appreciative of my…talents."

He couldn't help but notice the qunari's large hand straying to the girl's thigh as she spoke and the way he pushed against her left no doubt that their relationship went much deeper than that of 'protector'.

"Well…" There was something about these two that just didn't quite sit well with the Antivan and he studied them intently. "The truth of the matter is that Ravello now lies rotting away on a rubbish heap along with his out-dated ideals _and_ his appreciation, so you will understand if I am somewhat sceptical."

His hand fell upon the longsword once more and he was surprised to notice that it felt strangely…alert, almost as if it were alive…

"However…" Zevran's amber eyes flashed dangerously as he suddenly leapt over the desk, the blade sliding from the scabbard once more as its tip hovered dangerously close at the base of the qunari's throat. "If he ever threatens me again I will cut off his balls and feed them to the dogs outside before I end both your lives, yes?"

"Magnificent…" The elf was breathing heavily, passion making her pant as she watched him threaten her companion. "I understand _Master_. I promise you, I will strive to be all that I was to Ravello and more…so much more. We only wish to serve you."

She practically purred as her hand rubbed at the qunari's crotch and his body responded with a hardening that was all too plain to see through the leather breeches he wore.

"Then you can start by taking your leave." Zevran arched a perfect brow and withdrew the blade before stalking back to his chair as the door opened to admit Cesare Falco and his two dwarven bodyguards.

"Thank you Master Arainai…you will not regret this." The elven girl lowered her eyes demurely as they backed out of the room. "If you need me or indeed _us_ for anything, anything at all, just ask for Eleena."

Zevran didn't deign to respond, thinking that he'd rather put his cock in the mouth of a hurlock than anywhere near the strange elf and her surly companion! He frowned as he slumped back into his chair and noticed that the sword seemed to have also calmed.

Strange…

"You should have killed that filthy animal, Zevran." Cesare's rough voice was full of disapproval. "Those two are a blight on our House. Ravello was too easy with his acceptance I think."

"Ravello was too easy with a lot of things, Cesare." Zevran admired the blade once more as that oddly familiar feeling reasserted itself. "Eleena and Brandt are thugs, but they are useful weapons for when the client wants something a little more…how shall we say, extreme!"

"They are not worthy of the title, Crow!" The old man crossed his arms and stared down at Zevran as if he were addressing an impertinent child.

"In that, I agree with you."

He didn't mind the old man so much.

Truly, Cesare Falco had surprised him when he arranged that meeting many months ago. He had been as dissatisfied with the guild as had Zevran and his allies and their joint condemnation of the old regime had been the basis for an Alliance that soon ended the guild war and put Zevran Arainai at the head of the House of Crows.

Since then, the old man had been a firm but guiding hand and had brought many skilled assassins with him to lend their strength to Zevran's might. The Crows were once again becoming the most feared assassin's guild in the whole of Thedas and Antiva was once more the home of the poisoned blade.

Zevran lifted his gaze form the sword to meet the old man's level stare.

His eyes were brightly blue and shone with an intelligence and awareness that unsettled most who met him and his hair was iron grey, worn in a tight braid bound with a leather thong. His neat moustache and goatee were trimmed to perfection and he wore long dark robes that concealed not only many weapons, but also the components needed to create the many potions and poisons that were the trappings of his trade.

Women would still fall at his feet and Zevran could understand why. He had the appearance of a much younger human, despite his sixty-something years and there was a palpable aura of power about him. Probably due to the fact he was an apostate mage with powers that other, younger mages could only dream about.

He flashed the older man one of his roguish smiles and shrugged his shoulders. "But who am I to speak of worthy?"

"Modesty from Zevran Arainai…_Pendejada_!" Cesare raised his eyebrows and scowled. "I tell you now. Brandt is nothing more than a brute with all the finesse of a donkey turd and as for Eleena, she is nothing but a specialist whore more likely to kill you with disease than any skill with the blade or bottle!"

Zevran chuckled softly. "My mother was a whore, Cesare, a damn good one too and I suppose you are right. I have no need for modesty, being so talented as I am, but as for those two…I would rather have them where I can see them than running around Antiva causing us who knows what kind of problems!"

"You could just kill them?" Cesare finally began to relax and reached for a bottle of wine from the dresser before pulling up a chair opposite. "Nobody would miss them that is for certain."

"No…I think I'd like to keep them around a little while longer." Zevran produced two glasses from one of the drawers and smiled broadly. "They seem to be going out of their way to attract my attention and that intrigues me. You could say I am…curious."

"You're a bloody fool Arainai." Cesare poured and waved his hands over the glasses causing them to glow with a white light, before nodding in approval.

"You have a suspicious nature, do you know that?" Zevran grinned taking one of the glasses. "Even I would not poison so fine a bottle of wine as this!"

"You wouldn't, but those uncultured fools on the other hand…" Cesare laughed and drank deeply of the glass before admiring the sword in Zevran's hands. "Vigilance, eh? A priceless blade."

"Yes…" Zevran slid the sword back into its scabbard and smoothed his hand over its surface. "I have never seen its equal. You speak of it with high regard, my friend. Of its origin, I must confess of my ignorance so please feel free to enlighten me!"

"My dear Zevran, they say Vigilance was forged by the Master Armourer, Wade of Denerim!" He leaned forward and topped up his glass. "It is only the blade of the Queen-Consort of Ferelden! The Warden-Commander of the Grey herself!"

Zevran's heart began to pound as his fingers froze over the silken hilt. An image flashed through his mind of the Warden as she struggled against a bloated wreck of a creature spewing forth corrupted mutations that resembled twisted darkspawn, and then there was an overwhelming sense of victory as the blade was plunged deep into the belly of the thing.

Next, he saw her at Vigil's Keep in the company of a dark haired archer as they prepared to depart. She sat astride a powerful dappled stallion with her long black hair blowing in the wind and her stormy grey eyes full of pride as she looked over her assembled troops. So proud did she look and so very beautiful…

Then there was nothing more.

As if waking form a dream, Zevran jerked his hand back from the sword and stared at it with newfound wariness.

"The Warden…you do not think they killed her to get his blade?" Fear gnawed at his gut even as the words left his lips.

"What, those two?" Cesare laughed uproariously and slammed his hand down on the desk. "If the great Zevran Arainai couldn't kill her when she was a raw recruit on the run from Teryn Loghain, what chance do they think they will have had now she surrounded by an entire garrison?"

Zevran smiled through his panic, even as the old assassin struggled to contain himself.

"Besides, from what I understand the sword remained at the Keep when the Warden returned to that bastard King of a husband in Ferelden. She was recently delivered of a son, I hear, proof indeed that she is handling a very different type of sword now, eh?"

"A son." Zevran felt his stomach lurch, cursing his body for reacting in such manner.

"Yes. Prince Alexander, the heir apparent." Cesare creased his brow in puzzlement. "I am surprised you were not informed of this. Those messages you received, they were from her were they not? I thought that the two of you were good friends?"

"We were…still are, I suppose." Zevran snorted then pulled a mask of amusement down over his face to hide the pain he was feeling. "They were requests to keep in touch, visit soon and other such frivolous nonsense. My work here was far too important to be playing at court life and who wouldn't rather be up to his ears in whores and murder than stuffed shirts and frigid noblewomen. Ah Zevran, how difficult it is to be in such demand!"

"She could be a powerful ally, Zevran." Cesare grinned, his eyes glinting brightly. "Kings and Queens may come and go, but to have the ear of the Commander of the Grey Wardens…"

"I suppose it would do no harm to maybe, reacquaint myself with mi…with the Queen. It always pays to have friends in high places, no?" Zevran felt as if an old wound was tearing open deep inside, and yet it was no agonising pain to be smothered but more an ache that needed to be worked out. "I shall see what I can do my friend. It will be no bad thing to have eyes and ears in Ferelden that I can trust."

"Trust, Zevran!" Cesare rose to his feet and shook his head, laughing. "Trust is for lovers and priests. Not for men like us."

"True enough."

Zevran watched as the old man made his way to the door, his dwarven bodyguards falling in silently behind him. As it opened to allow him to pass, he turned back.

"One last thing…" Cesare spoke barely above a whisper. "Please reconsider your stance on those two _cerdos_. The Guild can live without their kind of trouble."

"I will consider it." Zevran mumbled, his mind already turning to the matter of the Warden. "For the moment, I have other much more pleasant things to attend to."

Cesare left with a nod and Zevran dismissed the two assassins stationed by the door leaving him alone in the small audience room. His eyes returned to the sword on the desk, its silverite inlay gleaming brightly even in the poor light provided by the oil lamps scattered about.

"And you…" He muttered as he stared at it suspiciously. "It seems you are bringing _her_ back into my life, but to what end I wonder...to what end?"

Vigilance simply gleamed.

* * *

"What!" Bronwen Theirin exclaimed loudly, staring at the empty weapons rack.

"Forgive me Commander. I have no excuse to make." Seneschal Garavel looked positively aghast as he made his report. "It seems the thief or thieves broke in a few nights ago and when the vault was opened, Vigilance was missing."

"They didn't bother to take any of the other weapons?" She could feel the missing presence of the sword almost as keenly as that of her own babe.

"No…everything else is as it should be." Garavel flushed hotly yet did not avert his gaze.

"Then we can assume that whoever did this knew exactly what they were after or were doing this as a personal attack against me." She frowned as she let her gaze rove over the remaining valuable weapons.

"We should have been more vigilant, Commander." Garavel winced at his poor choice of words.

"Do we have any leads?" Bronwen muttered as she withdrew her Warden's Companion longsword and the dagger known as Voice of Velvet from her personal weaponry stand.

"The winters here can be harsh and some of the new recruits ache for home comforts." Garavel was colouring as he spoke and Bronwen turned toward him with an intrigued expression on her face. "We...ah…often get camp followers trailing new arrivals and sometimes there are...ahem…ladies of ill repute whom ply their trade to the soldiers."

"Oh, you mean whores?" She tried not to smile at the Seneschal's uncomfortable shrug.

"Well, ah…yes. I suppose so." He cleared his throat and attempted to straighten a suit of mail on an armour stand. "Anyway, there was such a camp outside the gates about a week ago and we fear there may have been thieves amongst them as they disappeared just after the sword was taken."

"After?" She straightened visibly and slid the two weapons into the baldrics slung over her shoulders. "Didn't anybody try to question them?"

Garavel's face darkened. "A couple of the men did try, but one of them ended up in the Keep hospital after a disagreement with their qunari bodyguard. They cleared out immediately after that, last seen heading for the coast I believe."

"And what of Master Wade?" Bronwen could only imagine what losing the magically crafted blade he had forged would have done to him. "How is he taking the news?"

"Badly." Garavel rolled his eyes. "His forge was closed for days, the men having to rely on the smiths in Amaranthine for their repairs. Luckily, Herren kept the store open and managed to coax him back to work. How he puts up with him, I'll never know!"

"Love is blind." Bronwen chuckled to herself, thinking of the hang dog look she always saw on the expression of Wade's lover. "Blind, deaf and sometimes even plain dumb!"

"You're not wrong, Commander." Garavel finally allowed himself to smile. "This is why I have remained blessedly single, though I dare say that his Majesty is no-where near as much trouble to you as Master Wade is to Herren?"

"Oh, his Majesty can be quite the stubborn ox when he digs his heels in, Garavel." She grinned wickedly. "But as his senior Warden, I can still pull rank…well, in certain cases anyway!"

They left the vault in considerably higher spirits than when they had entered and stepped outside into the chill winter's air.

"Maker's Breath, it's bloody cold!"

Bronwen pulled her cloak about her as they crossed the courtyard. The onset of winter had brought on the snow and the ground was thick with a blanket of white that crunched underfoot.

Soldiers and Warden Recruits shivered at their posts as nearby fires tried to burn the chill from the air around them, but they straightened visibly in the presence of their Warden-Commander making Bronwen beam with pride. Her own royal guard had been barracked with the regular troops and she spotted them heading off toward the tavern with some of the Orlesian Wardens. No doubt there would be money lost on the dice tonight!

She stopped every now and then to exchange pleasantries with a few of them. A welcome comment here, a word of advice there and she even managed to ignore the stares of awe on the faces of some of the younger warden recruits as she made her way inside the Keep.

The nobles were not in attendance today and she strode into the main hall to find that it was blessedly free of the normal hustle and bustle that greeted her when she normally visited. After a few routine inspections and some stirring speeches designed to inspire the men, she eventually took her leave of the Seneschal and made her way up to the Warden-Commander lodgings at the top of the Keep. An open fire greeted her, and she stood gratefully by its heat, bringing feeling back to fingers and toes that were numb with cold. After a while, she unbuckled her weapons and laid them carefully in the trunk at the foot of her bed before collapsing into a wooden chair before the flames.

Frowning slightly, she pulled at the neckline of the rune covered high dragon skin armour she wore. It seemed like an age since she had last squeezed into it and Maker…surely her _breasts_ and hips hadn't grown that much!

She had recovered her muscular build quite quickly after the birth, more to do with Wynne's magic and restorative potions than physical hard work, but inside her body had suffered greatly. She would never again carry another child so the old mage had told her and a part of her had been destroyed on hearing the news.

The fact that Alexander would grow up without brothers and sisters made it seem all the more important to ensure he knew the truth of his real father.

She had to find Zevran.

Closing her eyes, she thought of his coppery skin and white gold hair, the way his amber eyes danced when he laughed and his generous full mouth. His moves were a symphony of grace and his thick Antivan accent made her quiver with delight when he purred her name.

Feelings that had been dormant since long before the birth of her child, once more began to stir in her loins as she recalled the way the moonlight had cast pleasing shadows over his torso, enhancing his slender, muscular physique. She could clearly see the soft dewy glow on his tip as he had freed himself from his breeches that night in Redcliffe, and the way he felt as he had thrust inside her even after all this time.

Sighing deeply, she breathed his name as she began to imagine what it would feel like to be with him again, and her body responded with an intensity she hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity.

Though Alistair had become a competent lover and his thickened manhood could certainly take her to her peak, there was a clumsiness to his attentions that often left her wanting and required the use of her fingers to finish that which he started. When she had been with Zevran that night, her body had responded to his touch in ways she had never dreamed about, and knowing that the Anitvan was as skilled in lovemaking as he was in murder had excited and terrified her in equal measure.

When they had first met, both Wynne and Alistair had said Zevran was as likely to plunge a knife between her ribs as he was to help her, but even as he lay at her feet with his life on the line and smile on his lips, something had told her to stay her hand. An assassin sent to murder her he may have been, but she could no more have killed Zevran that day than she could walk away from him now.

"What did you do to me, Zev…" She whispered as she sought to bring her emotions under control, and banish the growing ache that was building in her core, and it was only due to a supreme effort of will and some raggedly drawn, deep breaths that she managed to slowly purge herself of the painful longing that was now threatening to overwhelm her.

However, as the memory of his heated touch left her heart, it was replaced with something much more intense and more dangerous than a dragon's breath.

All-consuming love.

At that moment, she would readily have given everything to feel his arms about her, to hear his velvet voice and to rest in his embrace. Her duties to the Throne, to Ferelden and even to Alistair himself all paled into insignificance compared to her need to be close to the Antivan and it hurt as nothing else in Thedas ever could.

Flushing guiltily, she suddenly remembered that Alexander would probably be feeding now, and she keenly felt his absence at her breast as if he were an extension of her own heart. To have both her beloved son and the elf she loved so passionately with her at this very moment would be as a dream come true. How she wanted to share those precious moments with Zevran, so that he could see the child they had together and be a part of his life.

Her heart began to truly ache when she thought of the Antivan cradling the babe and unbidden tears fell from her eyes as realisation became certainty.

It really was Zevran with whom she wished to share the rest of her life and the life of their son, not the man she currently called husband.

"Alistair…" She gasped as her throat began to tighten. "Oh Alistair…I'm so sorry…"

It was then she noticed that a strong wind had begun to blow outside the Keep that night and Bronwen was truly glad of it, for the plaintive howling managed to hide the pitiful sound of her heartbroken weeping.


	5. Greetings From Antiva

GREETINGS FROM ANTIVA

"Since the first, these words have been spoken at the ceremony…Join us brothers and sisters! Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant! Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn! And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you."

Seneschal Garavel spoke the ancient words with all the solemnity of the occasion as the ten potential Grey Warden recruits lined up in the assembly hall.

"Agnetha of Orzammar…step forward!"

Bronwen stood to the side of the Seneschal and looked on proudly as a stout dwarven female stepped up to receive the silver joining chalice containing lyrium, darkspawn blood and the potent blood of the Archdemon that she herself had slain only a year ago.

The recruit drank deeply of the mixture and it ran in red rivulets down her tattooed chin before she passed it back to Garavel. Even as she did so, her deep brown eyes clouded over and for a moment, Bronwen thought she was going to fall, lost to the effects of the taint. But then she blinked, right before unceremoniously collapsing backward onto the hard stone floor…

"Ellhadan of the Dalish, step forward."

A lean elf with hair the colour of the rich brown earth reverently took the chalice and drank his portion before he too passed out in a dead faint.

"Regan of Denerim, step forward."

Like those before him, the swarthy looking human also made it through the ritual, and so on it went as recruit after recruit drank of the darkspawn blood to hopefully join the ranks of the Grey Wardens.

In all they lost four to the taint, their bodies contorting in agony as they failed to master the blood boiling within them, but six remained and were heartily welcomed into the order by the older Wardens.

That night there was to be a feast in celebration of those who survived, in memory of those who were lost and also in honour of the Warden-Commander herself. Dressing for the occasion, Bronwen once again donned her finest dragonskin armour, sheathed her longsword and dagger into the baldrics slung across her back and made her way down to the feast hall.

* * *

It was a crowded, rowdy affair with the common soldiers packed in side by side with the Grey Wardens. Meats, fruits and vegetables were all brought in on steaming trays by the frantic kitchen staff who bustled about the crowded hall like dancers in a frenzied waltz. Ale and wine flowed freely from great barrels and soon the noise was at an almost painful level as songs were sung, tales were told and bonds of brotherhood were forged.

Through it all, Bronwen laughed and joked along with the men and women who had finally began to relax in her presence. It had taken some effort, but once they realised that for tonight the Queen-Consort of Ferelden really was just another Warden in the ranks, they soon shared their bawdy stories and tankards of beer as easily as if she was just a farmer from the fields of Redcliffe.

"Are any of you from Highever?" She asked, laughing wildly as Agnetha lost a bet to Ellhadan and had to drain her goblet in one.

"Aye, Commander!" A dark haired mage stepped forward with a flirtatious smile on his face. "I am originally from Highever and I believe that I am addressing the former Lady Cousland am I not?"

"That you are, Warden…?" She cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

"Terrel, Warden Terrel." He took her hand in his and placed a kiss upon her soft skin. "Ah…then I see that rumours of your beauty were not exaggerated!"

He offered her a wolfish smile and his green eyes glinted mischievously.

"Then you have obviously not quite drunk enough!" She laughed. "For a sober man lies ever so much more easily than a drunken one…that is, unless your intentions are to flatter me so that I may fall into your arms and spend the night engaged in drunken debauchery!"

"Lie! Me!" Terrel pretended to look abashed and moved in closer. "My lady, may the heavens open if I lie and I insist my intentions are as honourable as the good Seneschal over there…"

Garavel was doing his level best to remain sober and upright as the feast wore on and surveyed the hall with well-practised eyes looking for any potential trouble.

Suddenly, Terrel was bathed in golden liquid as Agnetha up-ended her tankard all over the forward mage.

"There ya go, your Majesty!" She grinned at Bronwen as Terrel sputtered, wiping ale from his face. "The heavens have opened and doused the mage's intentions!"

"Why?" Was all he moaned, amusement and irritation warring for control of his expression.

"Doncha know she's married to King Alistair, ya dumb ass!" Agnetha laughed as Terrel suddenly turned as pale as a ghost.

"I didn't…oh hell…that is…" Terrel looked aghast as he suddenly straightened and offered her a stiff bow. "I would never have…if I'd known, not that I wouldn't…what I'm trying to say…"

"For Andraste's sake somebody bring this man a mug of ale and a wench!" Bronwen laughed uproariously as the mage floundered, caught partway between acute embarrassment and the terror of knowing he had unwittingly tried to bed the Queen. "Relax lad, I've heard worse in my time and believe me…you'd never have got that far!"

A small smile began to creep across the mage's face. "Not even part way?"

"Give it up would ya!" Agnetha pushed a fresh tankard into his hands. "B'sides…how'd ya feel about short women?"

The rest of the conversation dissolved into a ribald discussion about the nature of dwarven sex and Bronwen laughed so hard she felt like she would burst. She hadn't had so much fun since Oghren had tried to ask Alistair just how he bedded her night after night. Alistair had flushed a deep crimson and tried to avoid the entire conversation but the dwarf had been in blissful ignorance of his embarrassment and began giving him tips.

Bronwen had certainly learned more about Branka's anatomy that night than she'd ever wanted to…

Zevran had merely acknowledged the unfolding exchange with a wry smile on his lips and his eyes trained solely on the face of the Warden. The hungry look he gave her as he nodded toward his tent had made her shudder with desire, but she had smiled graciously, politely declined and moved off to talk to Morrigan.

"…What say you, Warden-Commander?"

"Sorry?" Bronwen cringed as she realised she had lost track of the conversation.

"Length! Is it more important than girth?" Terrel's elbow nudged her as he stumbled suggestively against his dwarven companion.

"Oh I see, well in my experience…" …" Bronwen stopped abruptly as she felt eyes upon her, and her attention was pulled toward a lone figure by the door.

He stood there, shrouded in darkness with a hood pulled up over his head, barely noticed by the other guests. Slowly and deliberately, he slid it back and she found herself staring into the calm grey eyes of Nathaniel Howe.

"In my experience…it is entirely dependent on the woman concerned, now if you'll kindly excuse me?"

Her companions must have noticed her change in demeanour as they made no protest as she made her way out of the hall. Nathaniel nodded to the exterior and Bronwen followed him into the winter's night as the sounds of the feast dwindled in her ears.

* * *

"Warden-Commander." The usually stoic warden grinned as he hugged Bronwen in a tight embrace. "It has been too long, My Lady."

"Nathaniel." She smiled broadly at the rugged human and squeezed him right back. "Tell me, how is Delilah?"

"My sister and her family are well indeed." Nathaniel grinned as he pulled his cloak about his shoulders to keep out the night air. "And his Majesty? I hear that you both are proud parents yourselves now?"

"Alistair is fine and as for my son…Alexander is a wonder to me every day and I thank the Maker for him." She felt a longing to hold him in her arms and furrowed her brows in recollection of his small, warm body and innocent face.

"Being away from him is hard. You must miss him very much." Nathaniel murmured softly.

"Is it that obvious?" She offered the rogue a lopsided smile and he threw an arm across her shoulders.

"Only as the nose on your face, Commander." He smiled again and shook his head. "But still, I am glad I caught up with you."

Bronwen frowned as she looked into his steely eyes. "Is there something amiss?"

"No…at least I hope not." He led her over to a burning brazier and warmed his hands over the fire. "We intercepted a dwarven courier crossing the Free Marches from Antiva. He claimed he was on the way to meet a trade representative in Denerim, but the fellow seemed a little too eager to be on his way. I was…suspicious and we had a minor altercation. Turns out he was carrying poisons, weapons…the usual trappings one would normally associate with an assassin."

"So I assume you informed the Bann, or at least the Wardens in that area?" Bronwen asked, puzzled by Nathaniel's growing discomfort over the subject.

"Not as such, no." The Howe Warden glanced about anxiously before reaching beneath his armour. "I found this on him. It's marked up for you…"

Bronwen felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at the letter in the Nathaniel's hands. With trembling fingers she took it from him and felt her heart begin to pound as she turned the creamy paper in her hands.

The black wax seal on the back was complete and unbroken, and pressed into its surface was the image of a crow. On the front of the missive, delicate flowing script picked out her name in sensually curving lettering with artistic flourishes that seemed to be overly decorative and yet designed to draw the eyes deeper in the passion of the writer.

Only Zevran Arainai could make something as simple as the written word, appear like a work of art.

"Commander…Commander, are you alright?" She felt Nathaniel's hand at her shoulder and looked up into his concerned face.

"Yes...yes." She smiled weakly and drew a deep breath. "I'm a little shaken, but I am fine."

She stared at the letter in her hands, desperate to know of its content yet not even daring to hope what it might contain.

"Nathaniel…you say the courier was headed for Denerim?"

"Yes, Commander." Nathaniel scowled. "He was obviously on his way to the Palace and you don't need to be a genius to know that the seal is that of the Antivan Crows. My sources said that you were on your way here, so I made all haste to get this to you before the Crows found out that the letter had been intercepted."

"You did well…" She murmured, tracing her fingers over the flowing script.

"Perhaps this is a warning, or a threat! My Lady, if someone is plotting against you or the King…"

Bronwen laid her hand on his arm and sighed heavily.

"Nathaniel, stop. Remember once I told you that you were not the first good friend I've had who tried to kill me?" She waved the letter and raised her brows. "There is at least one Crow in that house in whom I have complete trust."

"An Antivan Crow. With respect, are you mad?" Nathaniel gaped at in disbelief.

"You're not the first to think that either." She quipped, remembering Alistair's reaction when she had spared Zevran's life. "I do have a habit of attracting the strangest friends…!"

Nathaniel raised his eyebrow and smiled softly. "As you say, my Lady..."

"Listen…" Her mind began to race as she slipped the letter beneath her armour. "I may need you for a mission of the utmost importance and also the utmost discretion."

Nathaniel straightened. "I am your servant."

"I am retiring to my quarters as the night has…tired me, somewhat." She smiled as the rogue nodded in understanding. "Please convey my apologies to Seneschal Garavel and take what relaxation you can for the remainder of the night. I need to see you in the morning at first light before I attend to my duties. Be ready to travel on the morrow."

"I will be ready, have no fear." Nathaniel confirmed resolutely. "Good night Warden-Commander and I hope that the news is good."

Bronwen watched as her companion moved off back toward the Keep and then exhaled a deep steadying breath. It still didn't slow the racing of her pulse, nor still the fluttering wings of anxiety that beat inside her chest but at least it managed to stop her hands from trembling.

She peered anxiously around before making her own way into the Keep, and entered through the small guard house to the left of the main hall. From there she was able to make her way to her room more or less unnoticed and once inside, she locked the door behind her and moved to the fire before divesting herself of her armour. She placed the letter on the rug in front of her, pulled a thick woollen blanket from her bed and wrapped it about her shoulders before curling up on the floor.

Somehow, the room still seemed too big and empty and Bronwen felt the need for comfort.

Summoning the energies of the wild, she called upon her wolf companion and smiled fondly as the great grey beast appeared out of the darkness.

"Shadow…" She hugged him fondly about the neck and was rewarded with a deluge of affectionate licking before he slumped to the floor and rested his shaggy head in her lap.

Hesitantly, she picked up the letter and held it in her hands for many moments, contemplating the black wax seal keeping its content secret from prying eyes. There were so many thoughts running through her head about what might be contained within, some rational and others from a darker, more apprehensive side of her mind and she chewed at her lip thoughtfully as she turned it over and studied Zevran's exuberant handwriting.

Shadow stirred as she sat in silence and he gave a low whine as if to enquire after her cause for concern.

"I know, old friend." She muttered, running her fingers through his thick winter coat. "I've faced darkspawn, undead and dragons and I'm sat here terrified of a piece of paper!"

The wolf seemed to understand and sniffed at the missive curiously.

"Is that your way of telling me to get on with it?"

The wolf's yellow eyes locked onto hers and he yawned.

"The hour is drawing on, I suppose."

Bronwen sighed and broke open the seal in one swift movement. The smell of spice wafted into the air as she unfolded the paper and she felt her heart lurch as the hidden words came into view.

_My Dearest Warden_

_Or should I say, Your Highness…Greetings from Antiva!_

_I do wonder to myself, does the title sit as comfortably upon your shoulders as that of King does upon your beloved Alistair? I hear the people adore him, though he enrages the nobles of the land with his lack of attention to court intrigue and politics. He will learn that such actions should be avoided, lest his throne be not as secure as he hopes and yet, with you by his side who would dare challenge him!_

_Ah, would that he was an Antivan Monarch. I would order those wagging tongues silenced for you as a gesture of both my admiration and respect..._

_And because it would also give me a chance to show off my ever increasing skills and perhaps receive a rich reward or two! The gratitude of a beautiful woman is a splendid thing…especially if she happens to be the Queen-Consort of Ferelden._

_It has been quite a year for you, no? _

_I hear the wedding was quite a spectacle and that the bride looked as radiant as the morning sun, a vision of beauty glowing with health and blooming with both her love for her new husband and the promise of a new life contained in her belly._

_Tut tut tut, my dear! _

_I think the nobles prefer it if their Royals wait until after the horse is saddled before they ride off at a gallop…though it is fair to say, you and Alistair had already covered many miles during our little expedition against the darkspawn._

_Still, I think you like to shock them once in a while, no? You are certainly no shrinking violet to be told what or who to do and by whom, and that is one of the things I admire about you the most. _

_I truly hope your son, Alexander inherits the same sense of blatant disregard for what is proper and follows his mother into the realms of reckless abandon with as much enthusiasm and determination as you yourself!_

_Oh, no doubt being Alistair's son, Royal Prince and heir to the throne will provide certain obstacles to this, but like you I am certain he will find a way to get around such restrictions and seize life with both hands as his mother does._

_If he inherits her looks, then no doubt he will break a few hearts along the way. I know his mother certainly did._

_If I may be so bold, do you ever think back to that night before the final battle? I often wonder to myself what would have happened if a dream had been allowed to become a reality. If an elf and a woman had found each other on the very eve of the event that would change their lives forever…_

_But of course they did, and even though the pain was hard to bear, I hope they both took something from it that they treasured in their hearts always._

_But let us not dwell on such things._

_I understand you have been trying to find me, and for that I am sorry. Things in Antiva were a little chaotic when I returned. _

_Yes, yes…with the Crows believing I was dead I should have taken the chance to see the world, travel to new destinations and embraced the wine, women and song of all the peoples of Thedas! I have never made love to a qunari you know, remarkable but true!_

_But alas, how I missed the sweet stench of Antiva City! I was drawn back here just as surely as you were drawn to your beloved Templar and what I found was an organisation in disarray. The Crows, though still formidable were fractured and disorganised, their numbers decimated by an internal struggle that threatened to tear them apart. _

_I saw an opportunity to…how you say…seize the bull by the horns, an apt analogy considering my own prowess in all matters! _

_I rallied those Crows with a vision similar to my own and like you, bit by bit, piece by piece I ended up with a small army and stormed the guild house! The fighting was fierce and the streets ran red with the blood of many, but naturally we prevailed._

_Of course, over the year there have been many attempts on my life by those still loyal to the old ways but we are finally getting rid of such distractions and I find myself in the position of Guild Master!_

_Remarkable, no?_

_Anyway, I hope this goes some way to addressing my lapse in communicating with you and yet, not all the way._

_As for my other reasons, let's just say that some dreams leave a lasting impression and it took a while for my heart to listen to my head._

_Now at last, I hope we can be the friends we once were and I long to see you again._

_If only to stare at you lewdly!_

_Take care my dear Warden._

_Ever yours_

_Z._

Even after all this time, he still managed to bring a smile to her lips. At least she knew he still cared, still wanted to see her and that was more than she could have hoped for. Just what he would think of her after she told him of her heart was one minor problem.

What he would say when he found out he was a father…that was something else entirely.

Shadow began to twitch and she realised the shaggy beast had dozed off. She scratched him behind his ears and he stilled, calmed by her affection. Carefully, she extricated herself from beneath his great head and took a chair near her dresser. From the top drawer, she pulled a crisp white piece of parchment, a stylus and a pot of ink.

Her words, when she finally was able to set them down, flowed more easily to the page than she had anticipated and soon after, she re-joined the wolf on the rug feeling more exhausted than ever she had after a battle!

She was still sleeping there when the knock came early the next morning.

* * *

Shadow growled as the stranger entered and Bronwen leapt to her feet with a snarl, reaching for her blades.

You could take the ranger out of the wild…so they said….

"Commander!" Nathaniel stated quietly, blushing furiously.

It only took a heartbeat for her to recognise him and one more to realise she was stood there only in her smallclothes…

"Hells…" She muttered, swiftly swapping her weapons for a thick woollen robe. "I must have overslept."

"That's…um…quite alright." Nathaniel stammered, looking away as she pulled it over her body. "It's only first light. I just wanted to get here before the servants."

"Yes, yes. Thank you." She belted it about her waist and then turned as Shadow gave a soft whimper. "Oh, I'm sorry old friend. The forests must be calling?"

The wolf regarded her with his tongue hanging out and then glanced toward the window.

"Well, then…have fun, hunting, mating…whatever it is you do when I'm not around!" She threw her arms about him by way of goodbye before summoning the same wilds energy that had called her companion in the first place. As its dark nimbus dissipated, Shadow was no longer anywhere to be seen.

"That never ceases to impress me…" Nathaniel stared at the now empty space with his jaw hanging open.

"I've offered before to teach you the ways of the ranger!" Bronwen laughed softly.

Nathaniel smiled and shook his head. "Thank you, but I think I'll stick to…my other talents."

Bronwen cocked an eyebrow at him and reached for the letter resting innocently on her dresser.

"Speaking of which…you once told me that you had travelled in Antiva and with your past, I assume you would know of the location of the House of Crows?"

"I do." Nathaniel looked at her quizzically.

"Then I have a task for you." She pressed the letter into his hands and looked him squarely in the eye. "I need you to deliver this to the Guild Master. It must not pass into any other's hands but his, and if it looks like it may fall into the wrong hands then please, destroy it immediately."

"Commander?" Nathaniel looked shocked and concerned in equal measure, and Bronwen rested her hand on his arm reassuringly.

"It's not a contract or anything so sinister, you have my word." She stepped over to the window and watched as the dawn began to brighten the horizon. "The Crow I said I trusted, it turns out he is the new Guild Master. He and I have…unfinished business. That letter contains things of a most personal nature that could destroy my life and probably the life of my child were they to come out."

When she looked back to Nathaniel, there were tears in her eyes.

"You must see that he gets this…otherwise…I…I…"

"I will see it done, Commander." Nathaniel nodded in grim acceptance and slid the letter beneath his armour. "But before I leave, just so I make sure I have the right man…the Guild Master, can you describe him?"

"Oh yes..." She returned her gaze out of the window and sighed. "He is elven, of about my height and with hair the colour of the sunlight. His eyes are not unlike that of my wolf and he bears a tattoo on the left side of his face…three swooping claw marks of dark umber. His skin is like burnished bronze and he moves like a predatory cat. He is simply…beautiful."

"Quite Commander, and forgive me for asking, but I take it this _beautiful _elf has a name?"

"Arainai. The name of the Guild Master is Zevran Arainai."


	6. Of Whoresons and Wardens

OF WHORESONS AND WARDENS

The night was dark enough to begin with, but with the added blanket of heavy black raincloud to obscure the starlight, all but the mangiest of rats and most foolhardy of prowling thieves had hurried to their homes eager to be out of the downpour. The rain itself was quite cold and steady, beating an irregular rhythm on the tiled rooftops as the stench of raw sewage rose up from drains that were already overflowing with Maker knows what…

Sidestepping to avoid a rather large puddle of something unidentifiably filthy, Zevran frowned as mud…_by Andraste's heaving bosom let it be mud_…splashed up the front of his boots.

The smell hit him a moment later.

It really wasn't…

Typical.

He'd managed to get to the house of Don Raphael Putello, make his way across the estate gardens, climb up the walls and over the roof, drop down onto the unfortunate fellows balcony, all whilst avoid the watchful eyes of the house guards and slit the target's throat without drawing any attention to himself whatsoever and now here he was, on his way to the Bordello of the Seven Siryns, with horse shit all over his fine Antivan leather boots…

Such is life, no?

He allowed himself a smile as an image of the Warden laughing coalesced inside his mind. He could see her now, raven black hair cascading down her ivory shoulders, eyes like rich grey granite warming in the hot sun and lips stained with the darkest rouge to emphasise the pale tones of her skin.

He wondered, would she be smiling broadly as she read his letter? A fit and healthy babe firmly attached to one of her deliciously plump breasts...and that Ferelden oaf of a husband clumsily attached to the other…

'Now, now, Zevran…' He muttered under his breath. "You are not a jealous man, and you have no hold on her just as she has no hold on you. Just get yourself to the Seven Siryns. Maybe Felix will be free tonight to ease your…tension.'

A fresh peal of thunder heralded the onslaught of even heavier rain and Zevran paused beneath a covered walkway to escape the worst of the deluge. Lightning flashed overhead as he looked out at the sleeping city and he felt its static charge in the atmosphere.

The Warden loved storms, so she had said, always made her feel alive. He would have liked to have made love to her during such a storm, to know her body with all the skill and artistry at his disposal. To touch and tease that toned white flesh and taste of her most intimate places, to feel her hot wet lips around his cock and then fill her body with it, holding her tightly to him as they moved together, limbs entangled, tongues clashing and passionately bringing each other to a peak of ecstasy before collapsing into exhausted sleep, satisfied and at ease in each other's embrace. The brief memory of one desperate night of frenzied thrusting in Redcliffe, though pleasant in itself, had never been enough. For her, he would have been content to spend _every_ night in her arms and every day at her side…

Not a feeling he was either comfortable or entirely familiar with.

However, she had chosen the royal bastard…and who wouldn't? Alistair was a very attractive man and from what he'd seen, he was certainly well-endowed enough to satisfy a woman. But the skill required to wield a greatsword with any finesse took years to learn, and Zevran doubted that former Templar had developed such exotic techniques. To his credit, he was as devoted to the Warden as a lovesick girl, cloyingly so in fact, and the chance to rule over Ferelden at his side must also have been something of a draw too, an opportunity to secure a life of comfort, power and riches.

If Alistair had been so inclined then Maker knows, Zevran might even have been tempted himself…for a while anyway.

Funniest thing though. The Warden, despite her noble upbringing had never struck him as being particularly suited to that kind of life. She seemed more at home in the wild places, her wolf at her side and her blades in her hands. She had a reckless disregard for all that was 'proper' and seemed to relish the times she was up to her ears in battle or brawling in the streets with the cut-throats and mercenaries.

Fawning courtiers and sycophantic noblemen just didn't seem to fit somehow.

Now, had she journeyed with him to Antiva…

Oh yes, she would have made a fine Crow. As beautiful and as deadly as a silver dagger, as stealthy and as quick as an owl on the hunt. To have her skill and expertise at his side and her body next to his at night…

'Ah, Zevran…' He mused as a fresh peal of thunder from above heralded the onslaught of even heavier rain. 'Your mind is wandering again. Must we go over this once more?'

The Warden had made her choice. She was nothing more than a former comrade in arms and if she deigned to respond to his letter, a friend in a high place. Bronwen Theirin was a queen, a wife and now a mother.

"Braska!" Zevran spat, then frowned. He hadn't meant to say that aloud, hardly the actions of a stealthy assassin, no?

Pulling his hood low over his face to escape the driving rain, the elven assassin once more stepped out into the cold deluge.

With any luck, it would wash away the memory of her kisses…

* * *

The Seven Siryns was busy that night with many seeking much more than just a pint of ale or a goblet of wine to shake the chill from their bones. Beyond the first set of doors lay the reception room and bar, where fine ladies and pretty boys flirted shamelessly with prospective clients as they relaxed amongst so fine a display of flesh that they were always spoiled for choice. Coin flowed as freely as the drink and pleasure was bought with a smile and a nod to the voluptuously large figure of Marianna Louise.

As Madam of the Bordello, she floated about the room keeping an experienced eye on the transactions and also for any potential trouble. Were that to happen, the qunari and dwarven bouncers were always on hand to either throw out, or indeed end the life of anyone stupid enough to think he or she could hurt one of her charges.

No one ever messed with the whores of Marianna Louise…at least, not until Don Raphael Putello.

He was a Merchant Prince, most successful and certainly powerful. A family man, chantry-goer by all accounts, but he did like his elven girls. For the past few months he had been frequenting the Seven Siryns paying for the attention of Illisse, a Dalish outcast who had fallen on hard times, but found a modicum of protection and a steady income with Marianna Louise.

The elf maid had hair the colour of copper and eyes as blue as the sky. She was pretty in an innocent kind of way, if you liked that kind of thing. Putello was one such man. The first few times he had simply bedded her, his silvers covering nothing more. Then he had offered gold to whet his more extreme appetites. Illisse had agreed, trusting the man infinitely more than she should have and then one night there had been such screaming…

Marianna had found the girl, her face a ruin, sobbing and bleeding badly from both of her openings. Putello it seemed, had overstepped the bounds. When Marianna had accosted him, he had laughed in her face and he warned her that if he was hurt here by any of her goons, he would see to it that the Seven Siryns was closed down and all her 'stock' taken to be sold as he saw fit as compensation.

He was still laughing as he left that night.

To take out a contract on such a man with the Antivan Crows usually cost more than the Bordello could make in six months, but Marianna Louise had been a friend to Zevran's mother. When she approached him, he had accepted without reservation and for a quarter of the normal price. As a special favour to her, he offered to end Putello's life himself. The look on the face of the fat merchant as Zevran's blade had drawn a fine line of deathly red across his throat was one the elf found especially satisfying.

All in all, a good night's work and a job well done.

"Zevran!" Marianna spotted him and flung her arms open wide as he stepped into her matronly embrace, an embrace that a bereskarn would have struggled to break. "Oh…look at you my poor bedraggled baby!"

"Elf, Amora." Zevran grinned back, the wind slowly returning to his lungs. "Poor bedraggled elf…but…what? You look…"

"What in the world is that smell?" Marianna interrupted, her face creasing with a look of sheer disgust as her eyes travelled down to his feet. "By Andraste's bouncing tits, Zevran! How could you trail that in here?"

"Oh quite simply I can assure you." He laughed, bending down to remove the offending boots. "The streets of Antiva are riddled with such filth, but at least there is one less turd now to soil the delicate shoes of the dainty blooms in your employ."

Marianna Louise eyed him for a moment and then linked her ample arm through his.

"So, I take it that you have been busy tonight." She managed to keep a perfectly friendly smile on her face, but Zevran could see the tension in her jaw.

He leaned in close, so close that his lips almost brushed her ear. "Let us just say, dear Lady, that Putello will no longer be frequenting the Bordello of the Seven Siryns, nor indeed any other whorehouse for that matter."

Marianna squeezed his arm and she visibly relaxed as they strode through into the private rooms beyond the main area.

"I don't know how to…to thank you…"

"Ah ah ah, do not spoil the moment with sentiment." Zevran shook his head and raised his eyebrow. "You paid for service and it was done. If you really want to thank me, you can tell me if Felix is free tonight. I seek no more reward than a beautiful youth, a bottle of finest Orlesian Tokay and the comfort of lusty oblivion."

"You always were a good boy, Zevran Arainai." Marianna regarded him thoughtfully and cupped his smooth elven cheek in her pudgy hand before nodding toward a velvet curtain. "He was entertaining a client with song, but he should be finished by now and incidentally, try to keep the noise down to minimum. You make my other clients feel positively inadequate!"

"Ah, it is so difficult being me sometimes!"

Zevran grinned from ear to ear as the matronly Madam swept back into the reception room and then he pulled back the heavy curtain.

* * *

The room was darkened, a small flame flickering weakly from the oil lamp on the dresser. Felix lay atop the grand plush bedding, his head cradled in one arm and his lute by his side. He still wore most of his clothes, his pants and boots still in place and he looked so peaceful as he slept.

"Felix…it is I!" Zevran crossed over to the bed, resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Felix?"

The young bard was breathing, but did not stir and suddenly Zevran felt another's presence in the room. He span about and thrust his longsword in the direction of a rippling shadow as it seemed to coalesce into the form of a tall, dark, human male.

"Whoever you are, you have no idea with whom you are dealing." Zevran hissed as the human stepped forward.

"On the contrary." His voice was deep and his accent was not unlike that of the Warden. "You are Zevran Arainai and I know full well who you are and what you are capable of."

"Explain." Zevran held his sword level and his amber eyes glinted dangerously, but the stranger made no move to arm himself.

"Let's just say, we have both tried to kill the same woman and ended up in her service." The stranger inclined his head and returned his gaze with an even stare. "My name is Nathaniel Howe and I am a Grey Warden."

"Howe…"

There was something familiar in the stranger's countenance. Zevran reached into the depths of his mind, to the dungeons beneath the Arl of Denerim's estate, to the man who destroyed the Warden's family…ah yes.

"Howe, as in Rendon Howe? In the service of a Cousland? I think not."

Pulling his dagger he swept the legs out from underneath his adversary and then straddled him, yanking on the larger man's black hair to expose the pale vulnerability of his throat.

"Speak quickly Howe." He snarled, leaning forward. "Give me one good reason why I should not kill you now and be done with it."

"I can give you a two." Nathaniel gasped, struggling for breath but otherwise offering no further resistance. "One, if you think I would merely sit here and let you slit my throat without one hell of fight you are sadly mistaken and two…I have a letter for you which I was to deliver only into your hands, at the explicit request of the Warden-Commander herself."

Zevran's eyes widened in shock and his grip relaxed somewhat giving the human chance to break free of his grip and twist to his feet with all the agility of a cat. He glanced anxiously toward the curtain then glared at Zevran with eyes as hard as stone and a look on his face that was partway between disgust and respect.

"Maker knows why, but she thinks very highly of you, Crow." He shook his head and pulled a fine silverite dagger from his belt. "It would be such a shame if I had to tell her that I was forced to kill you."

Zevran grinned wickedly as he rolled his own blades in the air, loosening his wrists. "You would not be the first assassin to try and kill me, my friend."

"That is what she said to me when I first met her in the dungeons of Vigil's Keep." Nathaniel retorted. "Since then, we have been through a lot together and I have come to know her as both my Commander, and my friend. Incidentally, she has also described you as beautiful, though she neglected to mention anything about stupid."

"Beautiful is it?" Zevran smiled and noticed that the Grey Warden had neither made a move toward him, nor assumed anything other than a defensive stance. "Of course, I cannot bring myself to disagree with her on that."

He flicked a glance over his shoulder to the still inert form of the young bard.

"What did you do to poor Felix? Marianna Louise will not let you leave here alive if you have hurt the boy?"

"A sleeping draught, nothing more. He'll have a bad head when he wakes up in the morning but that's it." Nathaniel sighed heavily as he forced himself to relax. "Look, I'm not here to cause any trouble, but the fact is that you sent one of your men to Denerim bearing a letter for the Commander. I intercepted him in the Free Marches and …"

"What do you mean intercepted?"

"We met, got talking, his story didn't add up and we had a…disagreement." Nathaniel scowled at the interruption. "Anyway, that's hardly the point. I found out that the Commander was at Vigil's Keep so I took it upon myself to bring it to her attention. A letter from the Antivan Crows usually is not something to be treated lightly."

Zevran watched intently as the human reached inside his armour and pulled out a folded piece of paper, sealed with red wax.

"She asked me to carry this to you by way of reply." He held out the missive and looked the elf straight in the eye. "She couldn't stress enough how important it was that it didn't fall into the wrong hands. For whatever reason, she trusts you with her life it seems."

Zevran studied the human, looking for that certain twitch or a movement of the eye that would betray any deception, but there was none. Hesitantly, he lowered his blades and noticed that the man before him did likewise.

"Well…" Zevran slid his weapons back into the baldrics at his back and took the letter from Nathaniel's fingertips. "I do find myself believing you, though you must understand my initial scepticism. It is so hard to find real honesty in our profession, no?"

Nathaniel just glared at him from beneath his furrowed brows as Zevran turned the paper over in his hands.

"Oh come now, do not look at me, so." He sat down on the end of the bed where Felix continued to doze, oblivious to the goings on around him. "Please, take a seat. You must have paid for the use of this room and it seems a shame to remain crouched on the floor when there is such fine furniture scattered about."

"Your Tokay, sir."

Nathaniel started as the voice of a young girl carried through the curtain.

"Thank you little one." Zevran didn't even bother to look up from examining the confident black writing on the surface of the letter. "Leave it outside, would you?"

"Yes, sir."

He listened as the girl placed the bottle on the floorboards outside and then nodded at Nathaniel.

"They have the Tokay imported here from Orlais you know. There are two glasses on the dresser next to you. Please feel free to help yourself…"

The human scowled darkly but moved the curtain aside to pick up the bottle of golden liquid. He poured them both generous measures and then passed one of the glasses to Zevran.

Then he waited.

"Oh for love of…" Zevran shook his head and pointedly swallowed a deep draught of the wine. "Anyone would think you didn't trust me."

"I don't." Came Nathaniel's flat reply before he too took an exploratory sip. "Well, your taste in Tokay is certainly not in question."

"Ah. I am a simple man with simple needs, my dear Warden." Zevran smiled broadly as the human finally sat down and regarded him with a guarded air. "Fine wine, finer company and even finer friends it seems."

He paused as he touched his fingers lightly over her script and traced the shallow impression her scribe had left on the paper.

"Speaking of which…how is she?"

"The Commander was well last time I saw her." Nathaniel answered honestly. "She is in good health, remarkably so considering what she suffered during the birth."

"Oh?" Zevran couldn't keep the concern from his voice or from his face as he looked up sharply.

"According to my sources, it was rather difficult. She nearly succumbed to the pull of the Deep Roads, but Wynne of the Circle of Magi pulled her through."

Zevran felt his heart lurch at the news and his pulse began to race as he considered the possibility that he could have lost her without ever having said goodbye. What agony had she suffered to fall so badly into the jaws of death that she had to be saved by the old Spirit Healer?

Oh Bronwen, mi Amora.

Why wasn't I there for you?

Why wasn't I the one to be by your side?

"But she is well now, yes?" He said eventually, absently wiping at the rim of the glass.

"Well enough to resume her duties as Commander of the Grey."

"And the baby?" Zevran winced. It was like pulling the teeth from the mouth of a dragon talking to this one…

"His highness is a fine boy from what I hear and grows stronger every day." Nathaniel raised an eyebrow accusingly. "His father, _the King_ is also doing well. I assume you meant to ask eventually."

"Oh yes, dear sweet Alistair. How could I possibly forget him?" The husband of the woman he cared for…perish the thought. "Well now. I suppose I should see what the Lady wants, eh? They all remember Zevran you know…except the one's that I had to kill of course."

Nathaniel simply rolled his eyes as Zevran slid a delicate finger beneath the wax and unfolded the paper.

_My Beloved Zevran_

_How do I even begin to tell you what I must?_

_Firstly, I have a request you must honour for the sake of my marriage and more importantly, the sake of my son._

_The courier delivering this letter is a fellow Grey Warden and one of my most trusted allies. Nathaniel is loyal, discreet and knows his way around Antiva, so I have no doubts that this missive will reach you unopened and unread._

_Once read, this letter must be destroyed as it concerns not only the secrets of my heart but the future of my kingdom. If you have any reply to make…if you can find it in your heart to forgive, then Nathaniel can be trusted to carry your response directly to me._

_I cannot stress the importance of what I must say and yet, were you to make this public out of anger, hurt or ambition…_

_Listen to me. _

_I ramble on like a terrified girl and in many ways, that is how I feel talking to you like this. Not that it would be any easier saying this to your face, in fact seeing you again would unsettle my heart more than ever and yet I long for that more than I could ever have dreamed… _

_As I once dreamed on that fateful night…_

_It is true I have tried to find you, sending out runners and couriers, even employing the services of a certain Orlesian bard of our mutual acquaintance, but neither she nor her contacts could find the elusive Zevran Arainai._

_I had feared that you were lost, that the Crows had finally caught up with you and I lay many a night with fear in my heart and tears in my eyes that I was not there to fight at your side._

_Then your letter arrived and I knew what it was to experience true happiness once more, but it was tempered by a feeling of desperate terror when I realised I was finally getting the chance to tell you the truth._

_You know a little of the true nature of the Grey Wardens, of the way the taint affects us. _

_Enough to know that Alistair and myself, each bearing the taint had little to no chance of conceiving a child and frankly, never expected to. That he got Morrigan with child, we thought was down to old magic, a dark miracle that took from him the only chance to be a father he would ever have._

_You can imagine then his joy on discovering months later, that I was carrying an heir to the Theirin line. _

_Zev, I had never seen him so happy. He was like a child all over again, picking out names, planning our future and worrying constantly over my ability to carry the baby to term. He was almost overbearing at times…_

_But I made sure I was careful and the life growing within my womb was strong. I sent out word to the Circle of Magi that I needed to get in touch with Wynne. If anyone could help me bring this life into the world, it would surely be she._

_It was at this time, that I also tried to find you. _

_And so it was, in the coolness of a Denerim autumn, I was delivered of a son. _

_The boy was small, Wynne said, smaller than she would have expected for one who had been carried the full time._

_As soon as I saw him, I knew why._

_Alexander is a babe still, merely three months old but everyday his eyes are changing from a rich baby blue…to a golden amber. Alistair now chooses to believe that it is because of the taint and I did not discourage this. He dotes on the boy and is as wonderful a father as he is a king and husband._

_My son is strong, Zevran with a good pair of lungs and a ready smile. His grip is developing already, in both hands and I feel that he will be a skilled swordsman like his father. At the moment he has his mother's face, but in him I see the man he will become and as he gets older he will be his double in appearance, enough I think to no longer be able to pretend that he is the son of a King, the son of my husband, the son of a human._

_Yes Zevran._

_Alexander is your son._

_I had wanted to tell you before, but I could not reach you! Even if I had, what was I to do? Married to the man I thought I loved and yet yearning for another, how I have agonised over this._

_I do not know how to even begin to tell you how sorry I am that you are finding out in this way and yet I know of no other way to tell you._

_Please forgive me Zevran…I beg you._

_If things were different, if I had the time over again…I would like to think that our dream ended differently. A king would have sat on the throne, but his queen would not have been the Warden Commander._

_She would probably have travelled with her elven companion, her true heart, the father of her child, and together they would have made a life that was filled with passion, excitement and nights spent in each other's arms until the deep roads finally called her to the darkness._

_And that is something else I must consider._

_Alistair and I are Wardens, the taint pulling us both inexorably to that end and my son will be alone before his time. I would not have that for him. I wish him to know his true father, that he may have somebody in this world who will care for him as much as I do._

_I do not know what this means for me, for Alistair or for you, but I must do what is right for him and it is time for the truth between us all._

_So I ask you Zevran, please consider my words and forgive my actions against you. _

_Only know that you are in my heart more than I can express and I would give everything I have to be at your side._

_Your devoted Warden_

_Bronwen Theirin._

Zevran didn't even realise he'd been pacing until his legs gave way and dumped him unceremoniously onto the floor.


	7. What You Wish For

WHAT YOU WISH FOR…

Zevran's heart began to pound painfully in his chest as he read, and re-read the lines in the letter that seemed to leap from the page with shocking clarity and seize him by his very soul. His mind reeled under the scripted revelations and he was wracked with emotions that both thrilled and alarmed him causing his breath came in staggered gasps as he clutched the paper with hands that shook like leaves in the breeze.

…_Yes Zevran…Alexander is your son…_

They had a child. He had a child. He…Zevran Arainai…was a father!

It was wonderful, incredible and somehow more terrifying than any battle he had ever fought and more exquisite than any snatched moment of passion he had indulged in during his entire life.

He had fathered a baby, with _her_!

Bronwen Theirin had taken his seed, carried and nurtured it as it became a life and then a child. Not just a child, but a son no less. Alexander was an Arainai! The half-elven son of the Guild Master of the House of Crows and the Warden Commander of the Grey…

Oh, mi Amora…why didn't you tell me?

…_I had wanted to tell you before, but I could not reach you! Even if I had, what was I to do? Married to the man I thought I loved and yet yearning for another…_

Her letter answered his question almost as if she was in the room. Another feeling began to tear through him as he stared at the page. Guilt. Overwhelming guilt and shame burned in his blood as he thought of all the times he had ignored her messages, dismissing them as simple pleasantries exchanged between friends.

He had been so clever, so certain that if he no longer spoke with her, he could get on with his life and things would go back to the way they were. He was a Crow, an assassin, a cold hearted killer without the room in his life for lo…for such attachment to a woman who was more content to rest in the arms of her devoted Templar than to even consider that they might have had a chance to make something of their hidden desires…

But what had he to offer either her or their son? A life constantly looking over one's shoulder surrounded by killers who would as soon slit your throat for money as look at you? A life where your best friends are whores and your worst enemies are the kind of people by whom she was constantly surrounded at court and probably called friend?

…_a life that was filled with passion, excitement and nights spent in each other's arms…_

Oh my beloved Warden, such things you say…

To have you by my side and our son playing at our feet…do you know what pain such a dream brings me? What I feel when I think of you? Just how much of my heart you have already captured and how what little that remains I would give to you and our boy without reservation? Do you really feel the same, mi Amora?

Zevran felt his fists clench as he squeezed his eyes tight shut against the words. They burned into his skull and stirred deeply powerful feelings that he thought he had learned to master long, long ago. He had vowed, sworn to himself that he would never again be led by his heart.

Love had no place in the life of a Crow. It weakened you, made you vulnerable to manipulation. By Andraste's Blood, he had suffered that lesson well enough when he stood by and watched Taliesin kill Rinna. Even now, he could still see her face, begging him not to believe that she had betrayed them with eyes full of love only for him, even as they dimmed when her lifeblood pooled at his feet.

Love. Ha, it certainly had no place in Zevran's life.

And why now, anyway?

Why now when things were finally going well? The Crows were his and their power was growing. Royalty and Merchant Princes alike now feared them once more, and on the streets the common people spoke in hushed tones of the assassins who struck in the night. Day by day and piece by piece, control of Antiva was returning to the Crows and control of the Crows, again belonged to the Guild Master, to Zevran Arainai.

It should have been enough. He had power, wealth and as for company, there were many, male and female alike, who eagerly fell into the bed of such a skilled and enthusiastic lover as he.

So why then this feeling? Like a part of him was missing, a need he could neither ignore nor master?

And why her, why now?

…_I wish him to know his true father, that he may have somebody in this world who will care for him as much as I do..._

…_Only know that you are in my heart more than I can express and I would give everything I have to be at your side…_

Everything…

In his entire life, nobody had ever _willingly_ wanted to give up everything for him and now this human, this woman, the mother of his child was willing to do just that.

For their son Alexander, for a life so radically different from the one she was leading at court, and for love of an Antivan whoreson.

Zevran felt his throat tighten and then gasped as joyful tears slid free of his slanted amber eyes.

_Please forgive me Zevran…I beg you._

Forgive you, my dear Warden? There is nothing to forgive. I cannot forgive myself for ignoring that which I have long tried to deny.

"Te amo…"

The words left his lips in a whisper but resounded inside his heart like a fanfare.

Zevran Arainai sat on the polished floorboards and shook.

* * *

"Arainai, are you well?"

The voice seemed distant but familiar.

"Guild Master Arainai?"

Zevran wiped quickly at his tattooed cheek and looked over his shoulder.

"Forgive me for asking, but you look a little pale." Nathaniel Howe perched on the end of his chair and regarded the Antivan with concern. "The Commander's letter…I trust everything is alright?"

"Ah, yes." Zevran cleared his throat and climbed shakily to his feet. "Yes…ah…things are…that is she is well enough, I think."

He quickly folded the missive and stared at the dark human intently.

"Tell me, Howe. Do you have any idea what was written here?"

"No." Nathaniel frowned and crossed his arms defensively. "I was not ordered to read the letter, nor did the Commander take me into her confidence with regard to its content."

"But yet, you intercepted my courier?" Zevran's amber eyes glinted in the poor light.

"I owe neither you, nor the Crows any loyalty." Nathaniel returned his gaze with a level stare and his mouth was set in a firm line. "My oath to the Warden-Commander however, is both binding and one I will keep until the end of my days."

"Then glad I am to hear it." Zevran grinned, his mind racing furiously as he slid the letter beneath his armour.

There was a soft moan from the bed as Felix stirred restlessly in his induced slumber.

"I…was also to offer my services to carry a reply, should you choose to make one." Nathaniel muttered, looking less than thrilled at the prospect. "The Commander was set to return to Denerim once her duties were complete and she wanted to make sure that any reply was delivered only to her."

"Oh…?" Zevran eyed him speculatively then nodded toward the dozing youth. "Then I shall avail you of your services, I think…but here is not the place for such delicate work. Prying eyes and waggling ears are something we could do without, no?"

Nathaniel gestured at the slumbering bard. "And what if they ask about him?"

"It would not be the first time I have spent an entire night with Felix." Zevran shrugged and winked at the human male. "I shall simply pay Marianna Louise for the rest of the night and then we can slip quietly out of the back."

There was a bell-pull near the curtain and Zevran gave it a sharp tug. There was the sound of a door opening beyond and small feet tapped their way along the wooden flooring of the corridor.

"Yes Sir?"

The small voice belonged to the same girl who brought the Tokay.

"Ah, good." Zevran leaned out through the curtain. "I need you to take this sovereign to Madame Marianna and tell her I…"

His breath caught in his throat.

Large blue eyes shone out from a face that had once been beautiful but was now criss-crossed with savage cuts that jaggedly sliced their way through ivory skin. Coppery hair was pulled back from ears that were delicately pointed and fine tattoos crept across pale cheeks like the branches of winter trees.

"Tell her…" Zevran smiled softly as he looked into the torn face of Illisse and pressed not one, but two sovereigns into her small hand. "I will be spending the night with Felix and do not wish to be disturbed until morning."

"Sir, you give me too much…" The voice quavered a little as the Dalish elf hesitated.

"No, little one." Zevran made no move to touch her. She was like a wild deer facing the hunter. "The other sovereign is for you. Tell her it was gift from me, Marianna will understand."

"Yes, sir."

The elf maid reluctantly took the money and then nodded before turning on her heels and quickly retreating down the corridor. Before she opened the door to leave, she paused and half turned back toward him, chewing her lip in thought.

"Yes, little one?" Zevran smiled reassuringly.

Her blue eyes widened and a knowing look stole over her face.

" I know who you are…" She whispered, her voice barely audible. "And I know what you did for Madame…and for me."

She turned back the door and quietly eased it open.

"Thank you."

Illisse slipped quickly through the door before he could even form a reply.

* * *

"It always bloody rains in Antiva." Nathaniel wrung out his cape as they ducked into one of the many hidden doorways set into the Guild house.

"Oh yes?" Zevran pulled a key from a chain about his neck and carefully inserted it into an almost invisible, black ironwork lock set low into the wall. "Ferelden is no glittering gem of a country you know. All those dogs and the winters…snow and slobber are not my idea of a pleasant land."

"I'd rather the smell of dog there than the stench from the tanning vats over here." Nathaniel quipped. "I don't know how you stand it."

Zevran smiled as the lock clicked open and he breathed in deeply. "That my dear friend, is the smell of home. There is nothing finer."

"If you say so."

"Here we go." Zevran grinned as the door, if one could call it so, slid open and admitted them both to a secret passage beyond. "What, you think we should walk in through the front door?"

Nathaniel eyed the dark passageway nervously but followed the elven assassin as he stepped inside. They passed through multiple doors with wards and traps both magical and otherwise, and climbed twisting staircases that seemed designed purely to disorient and finally arrived at another door.

Zevran quickly muttered some arcane words, taught to him by the apostate mage who created the lock and the dark passage was bathed in warm light as the door swung open to admit them both to Zevran's private chambers.

"After you?" He graciously swept his hand in an arc as he offered Nathaniel a sweeping bow.

"I'd rather follow if it's all the same to you." The human looked at him suspiciously and Zevran frowned.

"Tsk tsk. Here I am offering you my hospitality and yet you are still suspicious." Zevran shook his head and stepped into the luxurious room beyond. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have spoken one of the trigger commands to the lock back there. You would have been dead within seconds."

Nathaniel frowned. "That's hardly reassuring."

"No…I suppose not." Zevran laughed as the door closed behind them and then relaxed into a plush chair before an ornately carved desk.

"Unbelievable…" Nathaniel stared open mouthed at the opulent decoration in the room.

"It is a little vulgar isn't it?" Zevran followed his gaze. "The former occupant of these chambers had way too much money and not enough taste. This study is a little over the top, even by my standards."

"Study?" The human slumped onto one of the great couches as he took it all in.

"Yes. I think Ravello thought that displaying all this wealth so openly was something of a show of power." Zevran continued to speak even as he pulled a quill and parchment from the desk drawer. "It looks more like a show of bad judgment in purchases to me…"

His voice trailed off as he dipped the quill in black ink.

"Tell me, how quickly can you return to Denerim?"

"I was hoping to leave this very night." Nathaniel answered honestly. "Being in Antiva always makes me nervous. I prefer the honesty of Ferelden."

"Ah. A sword to the gut rather than a knife in the back, eh?" Zevran nodded. "I can understand this."

The quill began to skim over the creamy paper…._My Beloved Warden…_

"If I may ask?" Nathaniel sighed heavily. "Is there something going on between you and the Warden-Commander?"

Zevran froze, the quill hovering over the page.

"I'm no fool Arainai." Nathaniel shook his head. "I saw your face after you read her letter and the way she spoke of you and certain things she said…there is more to this than mere friendship."

Zevran kept his gaze focused directly ahead of him. "And _if _that were so…?"

"You remember of course, that she is married to the King?" Nathaniel spoke quietly but his voice was as hard as iron. "If such things were indeed _so_ and they were…discovered, it would be considered high treason and the repercussions would be grave indeed."

"More than you know." Zevran creased his brow thinking not only of Bronwen, but also of their son. He looked over to meet the human's cold grey eyes. "And are they? Discovered, that is?"

His hand slid the throwing knife hidden within the top of his boot.

"The Lady is not only my Commander, but she is also one of my closest friends." Nathaniel sat back on the couch and shook his head. "She gave me the chance to join the order and regain my family's honour and because of that, the Howe name is no longer as reviled as it once was. In the matter of your _relationship_ with her, I give you my oath as a Grey Warden that not one word of this meeting or mention of the correspondence between you shall ever pass my lips."

Zevran's eyes widened a fraction and he regarded Nathaniel with new found respect.

"However…" The human continued, his face darkening. "I will not be a party to anything that threatens the safety and security of King Alistair, the power of the throne or the peace and prosperity of Ferelden itself. I am not my father's son."

"Then I offer you this." Zevran fixed Nathaniel with a level stare. "I give my word that neither I, nor the Crows have any designs on the throne of Ferelden. What is transpiring between me and the Warden is…how shall we say, a matter of the heart. This I swear."

"I will hold you to that, Arainai." Nathaniel nodded grimly and crossed his arms. "Though, if you hurt her in any way…?"

"Andraste's Blood, you think I would hurt her?" Zevran spat, his patience wearing thin and his eyes blazing fiercely. "We have been through more than you could ever imagine. I fought at her side even as we were hunted by the Crows, by Loghain and yes, even by your father. I was with her when we entered the Deep Roads and fought more Darkspawn than have ever graced the surface of your miserable little country. I was one of those that stood at her side when she faced the Archdemon and ended the Blight that would have killed us all!"

He took a deep shuddering breath and stilled his trembling hands as anger slowly abated.

"I care for her more than you can ever understand and I would never, never intentionally hurt her...but we have business to attend to, delicate matters that require immediate action and little time to plan."

He turned back to the desk and once more contemplated the blank paper before him.

"You said you were to carry my reply, no? Then I would send this letter back with you, I do not wish to keep her waiting." Zevran dipped the quill in the ink once more. "I would also ask you to arrange a meeting between us. There is a tavern in Denerim, just to the east of The Pearl by the city walls. It is called the Broken Sword."

"That dump? It is notorious for being the haunt of mercenaries and cutthroats!" Nathaniel raised his brows in alarm. "Never a day goes by in there without some incident that the City Militia has to deal with. You would expect me to take the Warden Commander to such a place?"

"Where would you have us meet, The Gnawed Noble Tavern?" Zevran frowned. "The Lady is too well known in there to be seen with me. No, it must be the Sword. Besides, I am familiar with the landlord and I assure you he can be trusted to act with discretion. I will give you the coin and also the _words_ to use to secure one of the more…exclusive rooms."

Nathaniel looked on sceptically.

"Don't worry, my friend. She will come to no harm." The elf flashed him a broad smile. "Crows often roost in the ugliest trees."

"They also scavenge the corpses of the dead…" Nathaniel muttered.

Zevran laughed heartily and relaxed. The human didn't like what he was being asked to do, but he would do it for her.

Oh my beloved Warden, such loyalty you inspire in men…and such love you have caused to burn in the heart of an elven assassin.

Zevran sighed as the quill resumed its inky journey across the page.


	8. A Noble Heart

A NOBLE HEART

There had been a fresh snowfall when Bronwen Theirin arrived back in Denerim and the city looked pleasantly picturesque with the houses and municipal buildings all shrouded in a blanket of white. The guards had greeted her enthusiastically when she rode up to the front gate of the Royal Palace and she spent a time chatting to them, enjoying their raucous banter despite the chill in the air.

Afterwards, she had personally taken her horse to the royal stables before making her way into the castle only to be accosted by Arl Eamon. The old man had frowned slightly as she made her way to the nursery, reminding her that though she had duties as a Grey Warden, she also was the Queen-Consort of Ferelden and that Alistair depended on her as much as himself when it came to the governing of the country.

Bronwen had scowled fiercely and reminded _him _that in her opinion, her first duty was now to her three month old son and that everything else could wait and be damned.

Eamon had turned an angry red, but had the good sense to hold his tongue. Always shrewd and observant, he had come to recognise the growing distance between Alistair and herself and had at first left them to it, putting it down to the strain of being new parents, but soon he was asking her pointed questions about their relationship and their marriage.

Bronwen had been outraged. Alistair was her husband and if she was going to talk to anyone about her problems, it would be him! Eamon had then told her that Alistair had already come to him, asking if it was normal for a woman to lose her affection for her husband after childbirth…

Bronwen had felt the blood drain from her face. Alistair knew something was wrong.

A moment of irrational panic had hit her as she wondered if he had guessed that she was in love with another man and that Alexander was not his child, but then she quickly dismissed the thoughts and instead looked Eamon straight in the eye and told him that her feelings, like her marriage were nothing to do with him and that his guidance ceased to have any relevance to her beyond the walls of the Palace Audience Halls.

Eamon had considered her with a face like a storm-cloud before he bowed and made his excuses to leave her in peace.

Rushing off to Alistair with tales of her abrasive attitude, no doubt…

She quickly resumed her journey to the nursery and all her anger was smothered beneath a wave of motherly love as she opened the door to find Arianne, seated in a high backed chair, gently cradling the babe by the warmth of the fire.

"My lady!" Her handmaid climbed to her feet, smiling broadly as she stepped into the room.

"Arianne!" Bronwen hurried over to greet her, placing a friendly kiss on the pale cheeks of the elf as she pulled off her sodden gauntlets and tossed them onto the guest bed behind her. "Oh by Andraste's light, is it possible he's grown only in a few days!"

"He has, my Lady." Arianne gently transferred the sleepy bundle to Bronwen's eager arms and smiled fondly at them both. "He is a handsome boy indeed!"

Alexander stirred as Bronwen carefully adjusted her hold to cradle the babe in her arms as she sat down in the chair.

"You know, I would not have thought it possible to miss something so intensely." She smiled down at him as Alexander yawned and his eyes began to flutter open. "I felt as if I'd left part of my heart in Denerim when I set out for the Keep, but now I am back…I am almost whole again."

A tiny smile played across the lips of her son as he responded to her voice and he turned his face toward her, searching for the source of that familiar noise. Bronwen Theirin gasped as his eyes finally flicked open. They were indeed the eyes of his father, of Zevran Arainai.

"Oh my son…" She breathed as tears began to burn in her own grey orbs.

"My Lady?" Arianne knelt beside her and looked up at her with care and concern. "Are you alright?"

"It…it's nothing." Her throat was beginning to tighten and she swallowed hard to keep her emotions under control. "I just wish…I just…I missed him so much."

"Of course." Arianne regarded her sympathetically and sighed. "My Lady, I was to give you a message from Magi Wynne."

"She's not here?" Bronwen looked up in alarm.

"No, she was called away on Circle business." The elf frowned slightly then focused on a distant point. "But she told me to tell you that 'she felt your decision was made even before you left' and that 'you should not be afraid, for he will come.' She was very specific that I told you this."

He will come…

"Arianne, have there been any other messages for me?" Bronwen stared at her maid intently. "Any letters or couriers from Ant…abroad?"

"Not that I know of, my Lady." She looked a little uncomfortable. "His Majesty told me he would take care of any business while you were away."

"His Majesty!" Bronwen's eyes widened in alarm and her voice rose with panic. "Oh no! I must speak with him! Where is he…? Has he received any Grey Warden's…? I have to know…!"

"My Lady!" Arianne pleaded with her eyes for her to be calm. "He has heard nothing, do you hear me? Nothing! Be assured there has been no word from anyone concerning…certain matters."

Her slanted violet eyes held unspoken reassurance and she glanced anxiously toward the open nursery door.

"Arianne…just who is it _you_ think I am waiting to hear from?" Bronwen regarded her curiously, suspicion knowing at her gut.

The elf's face flushed a deep crimson and she lowered her eyes. "Forgive me, My Lady. I spoke in haste."

"Arianne, look at me." Bronwen used the steel in her voice to hold the elven handmaid's attention. "What do you mean certain matters and whom is it you are referring to?"

"My Lady will remember that I was there when the babe was born." Arianne's voice was strained with nerves. "I stood at the side of Magi Wynne as she fought to save you, to bring you back and I was one of the first to hold him in my arms and comfort him while you struggled to hold on to your life."

Bronwen felt her heart leap into her throat as the elf continued.

"I have two young sons of my own, My Lady and though Alexander was as robust as a human child, I could see the elven blood that flows in his veins as clearly as I have seen the sadness and longing in your heart when you look upon him."

Tears sprang to her eyes as the confession spilled from her lips.

"I know he is not the son of his Majesty. I have known that for a long time. Magi Wynne confirmed as much when she was recalled to the tower and she bade me watch over you both until the matter was resolved. As a token of her trust, I was to give you this for the babe…"

Arianne reached into her pocket and produced a tear shaped pendant formed from the sap of a tree.

Bronwen gasped…it was Aneirin's token.

The young elven mage had once been an apprentice to Wynne until he fled the Tower to seek the Dalish and Wynne had always lamented her stern treatment of the boy. Fearing him captured and slain by the Templars, she had always regretted her actions but when they had been reconciled during the Blight, Aneirin had not only forgiven her but presented her with the very same magical pendant that Arianne now held in her hand.

Wynne would not have parted with it unless she was certain of the loyalty of the elven maid before her.

"Oh Arianne…" Bronwen sighed as she took the warm pendant in her hands and clasped it to her heart. "Thank you...for everything."

"You were never alone with this burden, My Lady." She replied, smiling through her tears. "I just wish I could have told you sooner, as it is I…"

"So, there you are!" Alistair's deep rich voice filled the room as he strode toward them. "Eamon told me you were back."

* * *

"Oh for love of…do we have to go over this again!" Bronwen threw up her arms as her temper threatened to get the better of her. "I'd been riding for most of the day so all that was on my mind was seeing my son, taking a hot bath and then slipping into bed. Is that too much to ask?"

"I notice I wasn't on your list of priorities there." Alistair muttered, his hazel eyes hardening with hurt. "I wonder that you even remember who I am sometimes."

Bronwen watched as her husband peeled off his clothes and climbed into their luxurious bed. His well-muscled body was still as toned and as fit as it had been when they first met and with his dusty blond hair and chiselled features, he constantly drew the attention of many of the ladies at court.

But Alistair had only ever had eyes for her.

His devotion had been unfailing and his attentive nature ensured that he spent most of his days trying to please her and bring happiness into her life and the life of their son. The nights she had spent in his arms as he made love to her with all the passion his noble heart could bring had been some of the most tender in her life.

But deep inside her there had always been something missing.

Shaking her head, she turned her back and began to disrobe, conscious of his eyes on her body.

"I don't mean to hurt you, Alistair." She sighed. "It's just that lately, things have been so difficult..."

Her voice trailed off as she slid a silken shift over her head.

"I understand, my love." Alistair's voice softened as she climbed in beside him. "I guess being at court with all these _stuffed shirts_ can't compare to all the fun you had at the Keep."

"It was good to just let my hair down for a while." Bronwen smiled as she thought of the recruits. "You know, there was this one dwarven lass and boy could she drink!"

"I'll bet!" Alistair broke into a broad grin that brought a light to his eyes. "If she is anything like Oghren!"

"Only with slightly less class…" She found herself laughing as she wondered what had become of the poor mage she'd had her eyes on. Poor fella never stood a chance…

"You know, I'd really like to go with you next time." His fingers began to stroke her arm as Alistair leaned in close. "I think some time alone, away from here might do us the world of good."

Bronwen felt her heart freeze as he inched closer.

"I feel like we need to reconnect as man and wife. What with learning how to govern the kingdom and the new baby, it's like we got lost along the way. It's been so long since we…well, you know…"

Soft warm lips brushed against her neck.

"Alistair..." She whispered, closing her eyes against the feelings of guilt running through her system. "Not now. Alexander is sleeping…"

"So…it's not like he's going to be listening in is it?" He smiled tenderly as his hand slid down beneath the covers to caress her thighs. "It's just that I think it's what's been missing from our lives. You remember those nights at camp when it seemed like there was nothing else but us and the stars..."

"Alistair."

"Okay, maybe there was the sound of Sten snoring, and your mabari didn't exactly serenade us with his whining…"

She laughed in spite of herself and met Alistair's loving gaze with tears in her eyes.

"Please, my love." He leaned in close and his lips brushed against hers. "It's been so long…"

Bronwen's heart began to pound in her chest and she felt light headed and giddy from the sudden outpouring of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. His kisses were as tender and loving as they had ever been and his hard muscled body pressed against hers as he leaned into her, the extent of his arousal wetly evident against her thigh. He moaned softly as he gently took the hem of her shift and began to draw it up over her body.

How could she not love this man…why could she not love this man?

She closed her eyes against the doubt as if to block it from her mind, but there was only truth in the darkness as her mind was filled with images of the golden elf…

"I love you…" Alistair breathed as he slid a finger toward her sex.

"Stop...please." She whimpered, her voice hoarse.

"As in stop please or _stop_…_please_…" Alistair joked as he nipped playfully at her throat and tried to push his knee between her thighs.

"Stop." She replied more forcefully and seized his wrist in her hands. "Alistair, I'm sorry. I just can't do this!"

"My love, what is it?" Alistair regarded her with a hurt look as she rolled out of the bed and grabbed her robe.

"It…it's difficult to explain…"

"Then try!" Alistair's sudden anger surprised her. "I have done nothing but love you and be here for you and what have I received in return? Your unfailing support as my Queen! Your loyal service as the Commander of the Grey! What about your love Bronwen, or is that just too much to ask!"

She stared open mouthed as tears of rage and frustration began to burn in Alistair's hazel eyes.

"The way you look at me, the way you speak to me…it's like there is no love in you! You even had a go at Eamon today…"

"Oh here it comes." Bronwen rolled her eyes and crossed her arms defensively over her chest. "Maker forbid I say anything to upset the noble Arl Eamon. After all, he's a paragon of a successful marriage isn't he? Married to that Orlesian woman who is so bloody repressed she couldn't even face telling him that his son was a mage! Oh please."

"Hey hey hey!" Alistair scowled as he leapt from the bed and strode across the cold wooden floor. "Don't speak about the Lady Isolde like that! She only ever had Eamon's best interests at heart…"

"Best interests!" Bronwen laughed. "Like letting an assassin poison him and getting a Bloodmage to tutor his son! It's hardly a glowing example of a perfect marriage is it?"

"What…and you think this is?" Alistair snapped, his body trembling with emotion. "Just look at us! What do you think Alexander would say if he could talk? Do you think he'd be proud of the way his mother is acting?"

"Don't." Bronwen stated flatly. "Don't you dare use my son to justify your argument!"

"Your son…your son!" Alistair cried. "He's _our_ son in case you hadn't noticed!"

She opened her mouth to speak, to cry out that he was wrong, to tell him that Alexander was Zevran's boy and nothing to do with any of this…but even as her temper flared, her common sense stilled her tongue within her head.

He didn't deserve to find out like this.

He didn't deserve any of this pain.

A distressed cry spilled out from the crib as Alexander woke to the noise of his parents arguing and Bronwen hurried over to the babe and held him to her chest. He wiggled frustratedly in her arms, tiredness and anxiety making him mewl and whimper even as she whispered soothing words into the soft black hair that covered his small head.

"Alistair, I can't do this." Bronwen sighed, gathering some of his blankets to her and bundling up her son. "I'm going to sleep in the nursery."

"What…why?" Alistair stared at her as she swept toward the door.

"We'll talk more in the morning, but right now…I just can't do this." The tension in her neck and shoulders burned with an ache that was creeping into her skull. "It's not good for the baby. He needs his rest."

Stepping quietly across the room she took the handle of the bedroom door in her hand and pulled it open.

"Wait." Alistair's voice was soft but there was such a note of command about it that she paused. "Bronwen, do you even love me anymore?"

A lie rushed to her lips and she turned, ready to say yes, ready to tell him of course and that everything would be alright, ready to delay the inevitable anguish that was soon to follow…but she couldn't.

He was too good a man to deserve that.

Too good a man to deserve a wife who loved another.

"Goodnight Alistair." She whispered as tears sprang to her eyes and she closed the door behind her, blotting out the sound of his anguished sobs.


	9. My Beloved Warden

MY BELOVED WARDEN…

Queen-Consort Bronwen Theirin gripped the arms of her seat with knuckles that were turning white with tension, and the atmosphere in the Audience Room was heavy with repressed anger.

"Is there anything further?" Alistair snapped at the assembled nobles, his good humour and patience stretched to breaking point by the events of the previous night.

"There only remains the matter of our visitors from Orlais, your Majesty." Arl Eamon bowed low as two strangers to court stepped forward. "May I present the Countess of Montfort and Chevalier Reynard of the Grey Wardens."

"Your Majesty, Highness." The Countess curtseyed and Reynard offered them a sweeping bow.

"Ah yes…I forgot we were expecting you." Alistair stiffened suddenly in his seat, aware of the impolite nature of his comment and flushed a deep red.

"My husband means that we have been so busy of late." Bronwen interjected with a smile. "Our son can be most demanding of his attention at times."

"Unlike his mother…"

Bronwen glanced anxiously at the visitors, but if they heard the jibe they had chosen to pointedly ignore it. Eamon on the other hand looked up sharply, his grizzled features creasing in a deep frown.

"Oh Oui!" The Countess beamed, her blue eyes full of mirth. "I heard that you were both delivered of a son. Such a blessing on you both, by the Maker's grace."

"Oh yes." Alistair replied, a cold smile playing across his lips. "A blessing indeed! It's wonderful how children can bring a couple together…apparently"

Bronwen felt sick. She could feel the eyes of the assembled men and women fall upon her as they wondered nervously whether this was another of the King's jokes or something to which they should not be a party.

"Ahem…your Majesty." Eamon moved to stand by Alistair's shoulder and leaned in close. "Our guests are here to discuss the terms of a new treaty with the Empress Celine. Maybe you should keep your personal squabbles with the Queen out of the audience room?"

"Of course." Alistair muttered. "I'm a King now, after all. I forgot that my private life comes second to everything else in Ferelden."

"Alistair, please." Bronwen looked at him with a plea in her eyes and for a moment she saw the hurt behind his gaze. "Our private life is just that…private. This on the other hand is impor…"

"You're saying our life together isn't?" He hissed, pain creasing his handsome features into a dark scowl.

"That's not what I said. We can talk about things _later_." Bronwen sat back and smiled awkwardly at the two Orlesians. "Please forgive us, your Excellencies. Sometimes lack of sleep can make us act like darkspawn in a Chantry."

"I understand." Chevalier Reynard smiled broadly and stroked his long black beard. "I remember well when my wife gave birth to our daughter. She seemed able to cope with everything while I became a grumpy old man. Your Majesty, It is good to have a strong woman at your side, is it not?"

"Yes…isn't it?" Alistair flashed her a cold look but he seemed to be regaining his composure. "I apologise Monsieur, Madame. Tiredness has indeed made me _grumpy_ as you put it."

"I expect all new fathers have all suffered from that malady at some point." Eamon joked and there was a ripple of polite laughter from the nobles even as his accusing gaze came to rest on Bronwen's face.

Andraste's blood…what had Alistair said to him now.

"Your Majesty." The Countess stepped forward and presented Alistair with a stack of documents. "Her Imperial Highness the Empress Celene bade me give you these signed treaties that were passed to her during the reign of his most gracious Majesty, King Cailan Theirin. Inside are the legal terms of said treaty and also maps showing the mutual areas of defence that both Ferelden and Orlais had decided to honour should either nation be threatened by this ugly dispute between the mage and the Templars."

"Or indeed, should the darkspawn deign to show their ugly faces again." Reynard offered Bronwen a nod of the head and smiled. "Though if they know what's good for them they will remain in the Deep Roads lest our honourable Warden-Commander here chase them from the surface once more."

Bronwen smiled politely as the conversation continued, both her husband and Arl Eamon effectively commanding the Orlesians attention as the negotiations passed back and forth.

Distracted as she was, she almost jumped when she felt a light touch upon her shoulder.

"A messenger has arrived for you, Majesty." The elf whispered. "He says it is urgent Grey Warden business."

Bronwen felt her heart leap into her throat. "Does this messenger have a name?"

"It is Warden Howe, your Majesty."

"Trouble, _my dear_?" Alistair stirred her from her shock. "You seem to have gone pale."

"It…it's a Grey Warden matter I must deal with at once." She rose from her seat and bowed her head. "Your Majesty, Excellencies, nobles of the court. Please excuse me."

"Can I be of assistance?" Reynard offered generously, yet inconveniently. "If there is something I can do…?"

"You are too kind Warden, but I should attend this myself. My apologies once more." She began to walk quickly from the room before anyone else could object or offer to aid her.

"That's my wife." Alistair called after her. "Always rushing off when things get interesting."

There was another round of polite laughter but Bronwen could feel the painful intensity of Alistair's eyes, even as the door closed behind her.

* * *

"Nathaniel!" A flood of relief washed over her and Bronwen threw her arms about the shoulders of her fellow Warden as he waited in her private chambers.

"Warden-Commander." He replied stiffly.

She pulled back and looked up into his stern face. There was a coldness she hadn't seen since she had decided to free him from the dungeons at Vigil's Keep and a growing sense of unease began to gnaw at her gut.

"I am to deliver this." He reached beneath his tunic and pulled out a letter. Like the one before, it was sealed with the black waxen image of a crow. "Now if there is nothing else, I have certain arrangements to make before I depart for the Keep."

"Thank you Nathaniel." Bronwen frowned as she took the paper from his hands. He was unable to meet her gaze. "Must you leave so soon?"

"I would…prefer it to be so." He replied hesitantly. "The last couple of days have been…somewhat tiring."

"I see." She felt his sharpness cut her deeply as he finally met her eyes. "Nathaniel, there is something wrong. Tell me what it is?"

"I'd rather not."

"Nathaniel, please." His silence scared her more than a thousand Archdemons and she bit back her anxiety as she laid a gentle hand upon his arm. "I have been so afraid these past days if there is something you want to say, you know you can trust me…"

"Trust! You speak to me of trust!" Nathaniel glanced about as his voice rose and he quickly calmed as he leaned in close. "Did you trust me with the truth of your intent concerning the elf?"

Her eyes widened as the implication of his statement set in. "What did Zevran tell you?"

"Nothing. He said nothing." Nathaniel sighed heavily, turning from her. "But, I am not a stupid man, Commander. Please credit me with some insight."

"Nathaniel I…damn it." She sat heavily onto one of the wooden chairs by the fire and held her head in her hands. "It's not what you think."

"Really? So you're not involved with that lecherous assassin?" Nathaniel raised a dark eyebrow and scowled. "You realise I found him in a brothel…about to engage in a sex act with another man?"

"Sounds like Zev alright." She groaned.

"Then forgive me for saying this, but what in Andraste's name do you see in this fellow?" Nathaniel's voice sounded husky and distant. "Surely the King is twice the man he is?"

"Alistair is one of the most brave, kind and wonderful men I have ever known." She felt tears in her eyes and lifted her head to stare absently into the flickering flames. "He is a true hero of Ferelden and worthy of so much more than I can give him."

"Then I don't understand, Commander." The harsh lines of judgement around Nathaniel's eyes were beginning to soften as he searched for understanding. "Just what hold does the Antivan have on you to make you feel this way?"

"Hold...he has the strongest hold you can imagine." Her tearful eyes locked onto his. "I love him Nathaniel. Maker help me, I always have."

The rogue stared at her in disbelief, his mouth working silently as he sought for the words to respond to her simple statement.

"It was not by choice I can assure you." She smiled sadly. "But whoever said the heart was capable of making the right choices?"

"But the Guild Master of the Crows…" Nathaniel shook his head. "I find it hard to believe that a Ferelden noblewoman could fall for such a character."

"Yes…ridiculous isn't it." Bronwen snorted softly and turned his letter over in her hands. "I have lived with this for so long now, I thought I could simply forget him, but no matter how I tried…."

She slumped in her chair as her body was racked by shuddering sobs.

"My Lady…please don't cry." Nathaniel's arms fell awkwardly to her shoulders as he cradled her against his chest. "It is for your sake that I voice these concerns. Should I remain silent while I see the woman I respect and admire most in the world, willing to risk her very life for love of an Antivan assassin?"

"And should I turn aside from love and live a lie for the rest of my life?" Bronwen gently pushed him aside and shook her head. "I cannot do that to Alistair, Nathaniel. He deserves to find his own happiness as do we all."

"And what of your son?" Nathaniel asked sadly. "Do you think the King will let you willingly take him from his side? He is the heir to the throne."

"Nathaniel, please sit." She gestured to the chair beside her. "You have become one of my dearest, most loyal friends and I thank the Maker for the day we met, but it is time for total honesty between us."

She felt a strange peace settle over her and sighed heavily.

"My son, my beloved Alexander…he is not the son of the King."

Nathaniel's face became as stone. Whatever emotion he was feeling was hidden behind a mask so opaque that she was unable to read anything of his feelings.

"Does he know?" He asked gruffly.

"No." Shame flushed her skin with scarlet heat and she let her head fall forward to cover her disgrace. "The circumstances concerning his conception are complicated. You recall I told you that during the Blight we travelled with an apostate mage of the Korcari Wilds? And since joining the order, you have learned that a Grey Warden must die to slay an Archdemon and yet both Alistair and myself still live."

He nodded slowly.

"The night before that final battle, Alistair lay with that same mage in an ancient ritual designed to draw the essence of the Archdemon into the child she was to conceive so that we two could survive. The child of that union would be an innocent and would be taken away by her to be raised in secrecy and safety so that it would never know of the circumstances of its conception.

I knew of this dark pact of course, I even encouraged it. I wanted Alistair to live as much as I wanted to be his wife, and I knew he would insist on sacrificing himself for me if we didn't agree to do this deed, but my heart could not rationale that which my mind knew to be the right course of action at the time. What I did out of love for him, twisted and turned inside me until I could no longer stand it.

Even as he lay with her, I found myself alone and in torment and I sought some comfort in the arms of the elf who had haunted my dreams since he first held a blade to my throat. In that one night, I finally realised that though my loyalty and duty were to the man I would come to marry, my heart, my soul…and the child that grew inside my belly were and would always be in the keeping of Zevran Arainai."

"He is the father…" The words tumbled from Nathaniel's pale lips and he stared at her in shock.

"Yes." Bronwen whispered softly "Beyond a doubt. At first I really did think that he was Alistair's child and even after he was born I could not be sure that he wasn't. Alexander could have been conceived on any number of the nights we spent in each other's arms during our journey together as Wardens, but as he grew I could no longer deny to myself that which was becoming more obvious with each passing day. My son is the child of an elven assassin and I cannot continue to live this life of painful deception for his sake. In striving to do the right thing, I have almost destroyed the lives of those whom I hold closest to my heart.

I am glad my parents are no longer around to see my shame. My brother Fergus carries the true honour of the Cousland's now. He is indeed a noble in everything he does. As for me, I cannot continue be the Queen any longer and I cannot let my husband go on thinking that he is the father of my son. I must tell him the absolute truth and I am more than willing to subject myself to whatever punishment he sees fit, even if it means my death."

She looked up and was surprised to see a single tear glistening on the cheek of the man before her.

"As for my son, I wrote to Zevran because he has a right to know of his child and if I am gone, Alexander will need him. I only wish that I had one more chance to see him and to tell him how much he has meant to me…"

Her voice trailed off as she stared once more into the flames.

Nathaniel rose without a word and crossed to the door of her chambers. As his hand rested upon the latch, he turned and spoke quietly.

"Perhaps you should read the letter before you speak to your husband, Commander." His sounded strained and as her eyes met his, she saw both sympathy and the conflict within. "Arainai has asked me to arrange lodgings nearby where he wishes to meet with you. I will accompany you there."

Bronwen felt her chest constricting painfully as Nathaniel's words stole her breath away.

"As a loyal subject of his Majesty and of Ferelden itself, I cannot and do not agree with what you have done and nor do I condone the decisions that you make now." He continued, his voice growing stronger as his heart and mind agreed upon a course of action. "But as a friend who sees another suffering without daring to hope, I find I cannot sit idly by and do nothing when there is a chance that something may be yet be salvaged from all this. Take heart my Lady, I will return soon."

Bronwen didn't even hear the door close, so great was the rushing of blood in her ears. Her hands shook as if with a palsy and she stared at the letter in her hands with eyes that dared not even blink lest it all be a dark dream.

He was coming to Denerim.

Zevran was coming to Denerim.

Watching herself opening the black wax seal, it was like another force was moving her hands. As the paper unfolded before her, the flowing black script of the Antivan drew her back into herself and held her attention to the creamy page.

_My Beloved Warden_

_I would guess that this may reach you only a day or so before I arrive in Denerim myself. It seems we have much to discuss. _

_Firstly, do not beg me for forgiveness, amora. There is nothing to forgive. _

_Times were uncertain and our hearts were clouded by events beyond our control and through it all, we...that is you and I, created a life! A baby! A son no less! _

_You will forgive me if I tell you how initially shocked and afraid I was at this news. I did not know what to say or how to feel. _

_And yet once my head had ceased its whirling, I wept with joy at this news. Truly, it would be glorious to sweep you up in my arms and carry you off into the sunset…but what then? _

_In the harsh light of day, amora, I find it is not so simple a matter._

_I assume you have not yet told Alistair of the truth? Your stoic servant, whom I discover is a Howe no less, has rightly pointed out that in pursuing our love we would be committing High Treason. _

_Normally I would willingly take such a chance to spend but even one night with a beautiful woman such as yourself, but we are no longer talking about just one night and King or no, I will not let him hurt you._

_What I propose is this…that we speak to Alistair together. I fully intend to play a part in our son's life and the sharpest blade could not keep me from him or indeed from you. If that means we must confront this matter head on, then I am willing to stand at your side and fight what is closest to my heart. _

_I can be…quite persuasive if I have to._

_After that, shall we go back then to Antiva? There are a few great houses in the City itself that are owned by the Crows, where I am certain we can raise our child in safety and comfort away from the intrigues of the Guild house._

_Should you wish it we can even make our home there amongst the thieves and assassins, but though it was a life I grew accustomed to and even hold a certain fondness for, I worry about inflicting such a drastic change of circumstance on either the woman I love or our infant son. _

_The woman I love. _

_Such simple words and yet I was not even aware I had written them until they leapt from the page. _

_Ah, betrayed my own heart no less, but know this…. _

_I do love you and when I see you next, I know I will want to spend every day and every night with you at my side and in my bed. _

_I want to wake and hold in my arms our beautiful child Alexander, and to watch as he grows into a handsome young man whom I am sure will be the envy of men and women alike, no?_

_I find myself looking forward to teaching him some of my better qualities, fine swordsmanship, the dual wield, where to pick up the best whores…_

_Do not worry, amora. I jest…_

_But to return to the matter at hand._

_Upon his return to Denerim, I have given your companion instructions to rent a room at a local tavern by the name of The Broken Sword. I will arrive there in a day or so and then send word to you. It is certainly no royal palace, but we can be alone in safety. My associates will see to it. _

_I would only ask that you leave the rooms of the King. I have never been a jealous man amora, and I haven't made such demands upon you before but to lie with Alistair when your heart is no longer his, that would be too much for him I think._

_And I must confess…these feelings of love, to which I am wholly unaccustomed, cry out for you to be at my side and not his. I believe I have waited long enough, my dearest Warden. _

_I want you and no other._

_Ah, mi amora. Now I must prepare to fly to your side so I ask you to wait for me but a little longer…_

_For I am and always will be_

_Your Zevran._

Bronwen Theirin rose slowly from her chair and crossed to the window overlooking the city. Below her, the merchants and city folk scurried about in the snow as goods were bought and sold and people hurried home to their loved ones for lunch, or worked through the day to earn that extra silver piece.

Mabari howled in the royal kennels, the dog handlers late with their feed and she smiled as she saw one of them hurrying across the courtyard with dishes of meat to satiate the hungry beasts.

The palace guards shivered at their posts and she made a mental note to put out more braziers to help them against the biting chill. Cold soldiers were no soldiers at all.

It was all so strange…life seemed to be going on exactly as it had an hour ago.

And yet, how could that be so?

An hour ago, she had been at Alistair's side in the Audience Room. An hour ago, she had been contemplating her future, willing to accept exile, execution, whatever her punishment was to be for betraying her husband and deceiving him for so long.

An hour ago, her fate had been decided….

But then came the letter and everything changed.

Zevran loved her.

With trembling hands she read the letter again and then resumed her steady gaze out of the window. The world _still_ appeared the same, but how could that be when things had changed so drastically?

Bronwen Theirin took a deep steadying breath, stashed the letter beneath her bodice and left for the nursery.

In a world such as this, the one constant she had was her son and for him it was also feeding time. She passed down the corridor, up the stairs and across the landing to where her son lay stirring restlessly in his crib.

Arianne greeted her as she entered the room and watched in fascinated silence as she picked him up and cradled him in her arms while she loosened the folds of her gown. He gurgled softly at her touch and smiled as she spoke to him before latching on to her plump breast and drinking greedily from her nutritious milk.

"Your father is coming." She whispered softly as he cooed contentedly in her arms. "Do you hear me? Your father is coming…"

When the tears finally began to fall, Bronwen was too overcome with joy and fear to stop them.


	10. The Broken Sword

THE BROKEN SWORD

"By the Maker's hairy balls, it's cold." Zevran muttered as he stoked the small fire.

The private room on the upper level of the Broken Sword was comfortable enough, but the cold bite of winter hung in the air and could not be considered welcoming by any stretch of the imagination.

See, there were certain things he missed about Ferelden.

The Warden obviously.

The food, okay it was rustic but it was always filling.

The countryside. Antiva was lacking in wide open spaces, if you didn't count the place between a whore's legs….

But the weather, no. He definitely did not miss the weather.

Antiva was as just like a beautiful woman. If the mood took her she could be warm and wet and even in the winter when the rain held a certain chill, it was nothing to make a man shiver in his boots.

In Ferelden however, it was always from one extreme to another. If it wasn't blisteringly hot and dry, it was as cold as the embrace of a chantry sister and as if that wasn't enough, there was always the snow.

At least it gave the people something to talk about other than the dogs, the Blight or whether it was now socially acceptable to allow Orlesian travellers to roam their lands without suspicion. Even so, it was a country that he could quite cheerfully leave and never see again.

But right now, it held more promise of happiness and fulfilment than he could ever have dreamed about, even in his beloved Antiva City.

Tonight, _she_ was coming to him.

Tonight, he was going to meet _his son_.

Tonight, there wasn't anywhere in the world where he would rather be.

Throwing another log onto the small blaze, Zevran settled back into the cushioned chair and sighed. In the space of a few days, his life had been turned upside down and now here he was, back in Ferelden once more listening to every footstep on the stairs in case it was her.

Patience, Zevran…patience.

When he had informed Cesare that he was leaving Antiva for a few days, of course he had protested at his departure.

What could possibly demand the attention of the Guild Master so much, that he must leave without delay and without attending to the contracts that had once more started to come in from all the four corners of Thedas?

Zevran had shrugged and made his excuses, after all was it not Cesare himself who suggested that he get reacquainted with the Queen-Consort of Ferelden?

Well, an opportunity _had_ presented itself and therefore he was going to take it. What could be a better way of gaining her favour, than returning the magnificent sword that those two _idiotes_ had stolen from Vigil's Keep?

If he delivered Vigilance back into the hands of the Warden Commander, then Antiva would gain both an ally _and_ a favour, no?

Cesare had reluctantly come around to his way of thinking and had agreed to oversee the running of the Guild while he was gone. Zevran did not plan to be away for too long anyway and he knew the old man enough to trust that he would put only the best contracts up for auction and hold out for the best price.

There were rumours that a very large and potentially very lucrative contact had come in and Zevran could see himself making a lot of money from it if the right assassin bid the right amount for the work. He could trust that Cesare would keep a firm grip on the proceedings and not let his natural tendency toward greed override his good sense in getting the best man or woman to do the job.

The name of Arainai had weight now. Sloppy work by his underlings would do nothing for his reputation as a competent Guild Master.

Content that his House was in order, Zevran searched for the swiftest ship he could find that was leaving the harbour in Antiva City bound for Ferelden. A slender trading vessel, the Mermaid's Kiss was leaving that very morning for the shores of Amarathine and Zevran had paid handsomely for the use of the captain's cabin.

Cesare had insisted he take men with him, pirates operated in the Waking Sea after all, but Zevran felt no need for such measures confidant as he was in his abilities as a master of the twin blades. Besides, the sailors would have to drink and eat and if any of them so much as glanced his way in a manner he found unpleasant, they would find themselves dead of a mystery illness within the hour.

Poison was a constant and very reliable travelling companion.

As it was, there were no such incidents and for a change, even the Waking Sea itself was as calm as a Templar in a prayer meeting. Still…it did give him time to think.

Just what would it be like to hold a child in his arms, knowing that it was truly a part of him? How would it feel to look into his eyes and see himself reflected back in the gaze of his son? What if the babe didn't take to him and cried out instead for Alistair…?

Then of course, there was the Warden.

What was he going to say to her? How did he explain his silence for all this time when it was obviously him that she had needed? How did he tell her that he'd always loved her when he'd spent so long denying it to himself?

After that, he had given up on thinking for a while.

When they finally made landfall, he'd purchased a fine horse from one of the merchants in the City of Amaranthine. He had been surprised to find the place in such a state of ruin, but the trader had explained that it had been almost destroyed during what had come to be known locally as the Awakening of the darkspawn.

A simultaneous attack on both the city itself and Vigil's Keep to the south had forced the Warden to divert all her forces to the defence of the old stronghold of the Grey, leaving the city to burn and even though the merchant naturally thought it a necessary measure, there were apparently those who said that she had only acted in that way to gain favour at court.

Zevran had scowled and shrugged his shoulders dismissively. If such people truly believed that of the Warden, then they deserved their fates.

The merchant had agreed. Well, he would…Zevran hadn't paid him yet.

Once coin had changed hands and the horse had been saddled, there had then been a long cold ride the city of Denerim.

Seeing its heavy gates again had brought back such a rush of memory that he felt as if he had never left. After stabling the horse, he slipped in easily past the City guards and headed toward the Pearl but then turned off, as the Broken Sword lay just to the east against the city wall. Making his way through the darkened alleyways he swore he could almost see her there as he had so long ago, standing against Taliesin and the other assassins who had tried to convince him to return to the Crows or die at their blades.

The look on her face as she had fought at his side for the chance to give him a taste of true freedom had made his heart throb as achingly as his loins. Ah yes, right then and there he felt something stirring deep within that he had sought to end by accepting the contract on _her_ life in the first place.

That she was ready to give her life for him for no other reason than the sake of friendship, was not exactly a revelation. She had already risked her neck for the sexy bard come chantry-sister whom she had picked up on her travels, and she even fought a dragon to save the witch of the wilds who would so soon after share her husband's bed and yet it was not the action that had surprised him so.

Merely the feelings that had coursed through his veins afterward.

After months of being at her side fighting the darkspawn hordes and travelling the length and breadth of the country, Zevran had indeed found that his old life had indeed come to end and a new one had begun.

The night he entered her body, it was not just his seed that he had left inside her…she had also taken a piece of his soul.

Ah mi amora…and now here he was, again seeking to be by her side.

When he finally made it to the rowdy and decidedly shabby looking tavern, Howe had been waiting for him in the bar. As Zevran had strode across the floor shaking the snow from his boots, the human had looked at him curiously, surprised that he had made it here so quickly, perhaps? Zevran had flashed him a charming grin nonetheless and the stoic male had merely scowled even more darkly than usual.

Such warm and friendly companions the Warden surrounded herself with these days…

As he sat at Howe's table, Aldous the barkeep had brought over a platter of cheeses, bread and some cold cuts of meat along with a fine bottle of Ferelden's best red wine. Such a shame that Ferelden's best tasted just like Antiva's worst really…

As Zevran had pressed the appropriate amount of coin into his hand, the rotund dwarf had spoken the phrases known only to certain members of the House of Crows. It seemed that Howe had done his job fairly well in relaying his instructions to the stubby fellow. Zevran acknowledged the barkeep's efficiency with a nod of the head and a rather large tip before sampling the delights of the food placed before him.

Howe had declined to eat anything, rather rude of him he thought. The kitchen staff must have been so offended. When questioned on it, he had merely stated that eating in a tavern that he now knew to be a safe-house of the Crows was something he deemed hazardous to his health, that was of course unless the patrons which seemed to comprise of nothing but assassins, thieves and mercenaries didn't end it first.

Zevran had laughed heartily. Did he really think anyone was going to attempt anything when he was in the company of the Guild Master? Howe had just shook his head and frowned.

Giving up on pleasantries, he had asked after the Warden and a strange feeling lurched in his stomach as he did so. Howe had paled a little and said 'not here'. The look on his face was enough to convince Zevran that something was wrong so he hurriedly finished his meal and then gestured for the human to follow him.

Aldous joined them as they mounted the stairs and led them past the communal lodgings to a hidden panel leading to the loft space. With a wary look at Howe, the dwarf slid it back to reveal some decidedly sturdy looking doors beyond and then handed Zevran a black key before respectfully bowing his head and making his way back to the bawdy tavern below.

With a wink, Zevran unlatched the door at the far end and stepped into the room beyond. He was pleased to note that Howe was shocked to see such luxury in what he obviously thought was nothing more than a rundown hovel. As he had closed the door behind them, the human had sighed heavily and met Zevran's questioning gaze with an even stare before speaking.

The Warden was struggling.

Her marriage to King Alistair was most certainly over and though not officially public knowledge, their disharmony was spilling over into court life where it was plain to see for those who had a care to look.

Though most of her time was filled with a charade of normality, sitting at Alistair's side receiving the nobles and their tedious petitions concerning their lands, their subjects, the cost of running their estates, her nights were spent in the palace nursery with only her son and her handmaid for company. She desperately wanted to tell Alistair the truth. The deception was eating away at her and she had struggled these past days to contain herself.

Arl Eamon Guerrin had paid her several visits, urging her to speak to the King and tell him of her ills so that they could move forward and rekindle that which they had lost. The Arl seemed content to blame all on her being a new mother and how it must be overwhelming her. He had even suggested that she should once again take to the king's bed as fear of conception might be the thing that was keeping them apart.

One night spent under the loving efforts of his Majesty might just be the thing that solved all their problems…

Even Howe had looked sickened at that.

The Warden had told the old man to stay away. She had seen his letters to the former King Cailan, urging him to leave Anora because she was childless and seek instead the hand of the Empress of Orlais. Just how long would it be before he was advising Alistair to take another wife?

The Arl had replied that the country already had an heir and if Alistair should decide to annul the marriage, the boy would be taken from her and remain within the palace. For the sake of the country you understand…

Zevran had felt his anger then. How dare he speak so of his son! How dare he speak so to his beloved!

Howe had then told him not to worry and that for now, the boy was safe. Neither Arl Eamon nor King Alistair had any idea that Zevran was in Ferelden and that he was the reason for the Warden's current state of anxiety.

Was it just his imagination or was there an accusatory tone in Howe's voice just then.

Zevran had whirled on the human, his temper rising both at the thought of the Warden's pain and of their own son being used as a threat against her. By Andraste's Blood, he would have spared her this pain if her could. Did Howe really think that this was what he had wanted for her or for the boy? There was so much more at stake…

Howe's eyes had fallen onto the crib resting on the floor next to the bed and he had coloured.

Ahh.

It seemed the Warden _had_ told him everything…

Zevran was hardly surprised, after all she seemed to trust this man more than most but he did wonder at why he was still helping? His loyalty to the crown and his obvious dislike of handsome Antivan elves aside, there was nothing to be gained by his actions…in fact, the opposite was true if he were caught aiding them in this way!

Howe had merely shrugged and again reiterated that he did not do it for him but for _her_ sake and the sake of her child, their child.

Such honesty was rare in people. Especially people who dealt with assassins! Zevran was starting to see now why she trusted him.

Then there had been an awkward moment and one that took some explaining.

As Zevran divested himself of his travelling cloak, the human's eyes had fallen upon the sword slung across his hip. Oh how he had carried on when he realised it was her sword, Vigilance. The dark look he gave him as he had gestured at the blade was priceless, reminded Zevran of the look he had last seen of the face of an outraged husband when he caught him in bed with his wife and his sister at the same time.

That particular problem had been easily solved when Zevran had asked him to join them.

Ahhh…those were simpler times, no!

Anyway, whether Howe had believed him or not when he said that he was not responsible for its theft seemed to be a moot point. He had simply scowled even more darkly and then insisted on taking the blade to her. When Zevran pointed out that it was his intent to return it himself, Howe had asked rather impertinently if he was hoping that the lady would fall into his arms in gratitude.

Zevran had grinned wickedly and said he would rather she fall into his bed.

After that comment, it appeared that the time for friendly banter was over. With a look of disgust, Howe had pointedly declared that it was time to tell the Warden of Zevran's arrival. He would make his way to the palace, request an audience and then if all went well, escort her to the Broken Sword under cover of darkness. Zevran had calmly agreed and had told Howe the password to give to Aldous that would allow him to access the rooms once more.

With a final shake of his head, the human had left and Zevran finally surrendered to the nerves that had been gnawing at his stomach since he had arrived. He stood in the centre of the room, shaking like a colt and gulping down breaths of air like a poisoned man gulps down antidote.

She was going to be here…in this very room…with his son...

This time, this very moment he had dreamed of was about to become reality and he was terrified.

With a heavy sigh, Zevran looked out of the window and watched as snowflakes began to fall past the thick panes of glass. It would be getting colder soon and he was sure that the baby needed to be warm.

A pile of logs were stacked in the fireplace and he used a nearby tinderbox to light the kindling beneath. Soon, a pleasant fire burned in the hearth and the room began to warm to is glow.

To keep his mind from wandering, he unpacked the few belongings he had brought with him and then arranged a few candles and lamps about the place to give it a more welcome feel. He placed his silverite longsword atop the dresser, hilt toward the centre of the room in case he needed it in a hurry and the fine dragonbone dagger he'd had crafted by the Crow weapon-smiths, he positioned next to the bed in case of…disturbance.

Next he removed his armour and placed it away from the fire. Drakeskin, like any leather was liable to crack if dried out too suddenly and this particular set had got him through far too many battles unscathed to lose it to simple carelessness.

The Warden's sword, he lay reverently atop the large bed and then smiled to himself, feeling a surge of warmth both to his loins and his heart as he pressed down on the firm mattress. It was certainly well sprung and the covers though slightly worn were soft and thick enough to keep two bodies warm on a cold night after any energetic exertions.

As his gaze fell upon the crib at his feet, his brow furrowed in consternation. Would it be warm enough for the little fellow in there? Did he have enough woollen blankets? Did he need to be closer to the fire or further away?

Ah Zevran…

He knew a hundred different ways to kill a man, but looking after one tiny baby was something of a mystery.

He briefly wondered what Aldous must have thought when he asked for the crib as part of the preparations for his visit, something sordid and unpleasant no doubt, and then dismissed his suspicions as uncharitable. The dwarf had five children of his own after all.

Sighing heavily, he tapped the crib lightly with his foot and watched as it rocked back and forth.

An old pain suddenly stirred deep within his consciousness and for a moment he thought could hear the voice of his mother, singing softly in her native Dalish while he dozed in her arms. The words were of course were a mystery to him but he could almost imagine her tone and the way he would have felt as she stroked his hair and smiled down at him with love in her eyes.

In such moments, he could forget that he had never known such things, never known her at all for that matter, but it was a bittersweet illusion nonetheless…

Now-now, Zevran. Such maudlin thoughts would do him no good.

Shaking his head as if to banish the imagined memories, he suddenly felt winter's chill once again trying to intrude upon the room. Without the extra layers provided by his armour he was even more aware of the coldness of the season and taking up the iron poker near the hearth he coaxed yet more warmth out of the fire.

Glancing out of the window he could see that it was snowing thickly now, the heavy white flakes standing out starkly against the darkening sky. Night was falling and very soon she would be coming to him.

There was a noise outside and he whirled as the sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond, but it must have been another guest taking to their bed.

Relax, relax, relax.

Taking a calming breath, he forced himself to unwind and sank into the chair by the fire.

If he could wait patiently for hours in order to kill a mark, he could damn well wait for her and once she was in his sights, he was never letting her go again.


	11. A Winter's Night

A WINTER'S NIGHT

"This way, Commander."

Bronwen's heart was pounding as Nathaniel led her through the darkened alleys toward the Broken Sword. Her warm travelling clothes protected her from the cold but the snow was falling heavily and she pulled her thick fur cloak tightly around her body to protect the baby she carried in her arms from the chilling elements.

Earlier, when Arianne had admitted the roguish Warden to her chambers, she had felt such a surge of emotion that she could barely stand. When he told her that Arainai was here and waiting for her, she had all but torn the gown from her body and thrown on some comfortable lined leathers and a stout pair of boots.

She had eyed her sword speculatively, but then decided against it. It was not like they were expecting any trouble but just to be safe, she slid the enchanted short blade of the Voice of Velvet into a sheath at her belt and then gathered up Alexander from his crib and wrapped him in his favourite woollen blanket.

Looking at her son as they hurried past broken down warehouses and empty ramshackle buildings, she noticed that Alexander looked more and more like his father every day, especially when he smiled.

True, he did have her raven hair and a certain stockiness to his small frame, but in that wondrous expression there was just that hint of cheekiness and love of life that she was sure would blossom into the same charming, self-assured confidence that made both men and women fall unashamedly at Zevran's feet.

In fact, with _that_ smile he was bound to try and charm his way out of trouble when he was older, he was certainly going to be a handful and that was for sure!

Sighing happily, she cradled him against her breast and tried to calm her nerves. Her mind was full of words that crashed and jumbled against each other as she puzzled over just what she was going to say to Zev and what he might say to her.

Adding to her turmoil was a riptide of emotion that surged through her with an intensity she almost couldn't bear. The love and the passion that had been a burning ember deep within her for so long was now an inferno that blazed in her heart and made her yearn for his arms, ache for his kisses and the intimate comfort of his body.

Just the thought of giving herself to him and feeling his hands upon her left her breathless…

"Hsst." Nathaniel had dropped back a pace and though he appeared nonchalant, he walked beside her with his hand on his sword. "We're being followed."

Bronwen straightened visibly, the threat of danger pushing her pleasant musings to the back of her mind as her instincts took over.

"Bandits?" She whispered, pulling her son even closer as if to shield him from the very idea.

"I'm not sure." Nathaniel replied huskily. "I thought I saw someone earlier, but I couldn't be certain until now"

Bronwen grimaced as she took in the shacks around them, anyone could be hiding there and they wouldn't be seen until it was too late. She nervously fingered the enchanted dagger at her hip and chewed her lip thoughtfully. She hadn't expected to have to use it but by Andraste's Blood she would kill anyone who tried to harm a single hair on Alexander's head...

"Keep walking." She murmured softly to Nathaniel as her mind reached out to another consciousness. "I'm calling for aid…"

A form began to coalesce in the shadows of her mind and she connected with it as the threat seemed to loom ever more closely. Shared thoughts across the stream of consciousness conveyed the urgency of her situation to the form and it bared its teeth in response.

As her gaze once again focused on the darkened doorways ahead of her, she could see Shadow's lupine eyes watching her carefully as he appeared in the darkness. The great wolf shook himself as if to shrug off the effects of the summoning and then scented the air just ahead of them and his hackles rose.

There was indeed danger ahead.

Nathaniel felt rather than saw the reaction of the wolf and he drew his sword, the enchanted silverite blade gleaming brightly despite the blanket of cloud shielding the moon.

"Commander, do you think Arainai has betrayed us?" He muttered under his breath, stony eyes scanning the darkened recesses and hollow doorways through the veil of snow that hid more than they would have liked.

"No." She answered certainly, the blade of the Voice icing in her grasp as she slid it from its sheath. "I trust him with my life."

Suddenly the air was shattered by the shrill whistle of a crossbow bolt as it sped toward Nathaniel's chest. The dark rogue immediately dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding its deadly flight and then rolled to his feet as their attackers finally revealed themselves.

"Do you trust him with mine?" He retorted as he pushed himself ahead of her and shielded her with his body.

Several men, all dressed in darkest leather armour began to converge on their position, each carrying a weapon in his hands and a couple of them bearing shields without emblem.

"Assassins…" Hissed Nathaniel angrily.

"Back away from the woman, Grey Warden!" One of them called, a wicked looking thug with an axe in each of his hands. "We only want her and the child."

"Over my dead body." Nathaniel spat, pulling a long serrated dagger from his belt to compliment his sword.

"Have it your way."

The thug charged, but Nathaniel was faster. His sword flashed as he took both of the man's hands in one sweep of the blade and he collapsed, screaming in agony as his lifeblood pumped from the ruined stumps of his arms.

Another of the assassins charged at them, his sword swinging in a powerful arc as he sought to knock the troublesome rogue from his feet, but Shadow leaped from the cover of the doorway and pinned the man to the ground, tearing at his throat in a fatal attack that ended his life with a bone curdling scream.

Alexander began to wail at the strange noise and a third man tried to use the distraction to approach Bronwen from the side, but she lashed out with a booted foot smashing his kneecap and causing him to stumble into the snow. She stabbed the Voice viciously down into the back of his neck and his body turned to solid ice even as he fell.

"Stop!" Another voice called out in the darkness, only this time it belonged to a slender, chestnut- haired elven female with flashing green eyes. "Leave the Warden and Her Royal Highness to us!"

The remaining assassins looked on uncertainly as she stepped into their midst, carrying an ornate crossbow in her arms. With a lascivious smile she nodded her head to the left and Bronwen followed her gaze.

"Nathaniel…" She murmured, her eyes widening in fear.

A hulking brute of a qunari with long sweeping horns grinned maliciously as he advanced upon them swinging his great axe as if it weighed nothing more than a feather.

"By the Maker's mercy…!" Nathaniel exclaimed as he put himself between her and this new threat.

"Oh don't mind Brandt, Warden." The elf giggled, her laughter shrill and unsettling in the frozen air. "He won't kill her…well, until he's fucked her senseless anyway! He's never been inside royalty before!"

"You spoiling it, Eleena!" He growled in thickly accented Ferelden. "I was hoping to surprise her…you know how I enjoy it when they struggle!"

Bronwen felt sick with fear and for the first time in her life, somewhat defenceless. Without the child in her arms, she would have been free to attack without reservation and she felt certain that between her and Nathaniel, they could have ended the lives of all those present.

With Alexander nestled against her chest however, she was sick with worry for him and therefore utterly vulnerable.

The snow covered ground was too cold to lay him anywhere without risk and besides, there were too many armed men who might either snatch him up or kick him to death should they feel so inclined. To carry him as she attempted to fight alongside her companion was inviting harm to the boy and also gave her enemies an advantage as they knew that he would be her weakness.

As Alexander continued to bawl in her arms, she looked at Nathaniel with dread.

The noble Howe looked pale with fury and indignation, but he had set his jaw and merely glared at the qunari. She knew that deep down he would die before he let the vile beast touch her, but even then there were the others to worry about and their situation was becoming more desperate by the second.

"Just remember Brandt, don't start until I'm ready!" The elf woman Eleena called to the horned warrior as he licked his lips. "I get so lonely when you play without me!"

The qunari rubbed his crotch suggestively and Nathaniel snarled as he took another step toward them. When he risked a glance over his shoulder, Bronwen could see both determined acceptance and stoic resolution in his handsome face.

"The Broken Sword is just to the East, Commander. I suggest you run…"

"I'm not leaving you." She answered, without hesitation, holding the Voice before her to protect his flank.

"Then do it for you son." Nathaniel stated flatly as he returned his gaze to the qunari.

"They have crossbows, Nathaniel. I'll not get more than ten feet."

"Then Maker be with us, Commander."

She heard the hopeless frustration in his voice even as one of the swordsmen lunged for him and Nathaniel whirled on the man, his blades catching his attack as he lashed out at the man's legs.

It was all the distraction the qunari needed.

With a roar, he swung the greataxe in a devastating blow that would surely have decapitated her companion had Shadow not leapt through the air and threw him off balance.

The great wolf was a blur of teeth and claws as he frenziedly sought to end the life of the qunari, but suddenly there was another shrill whistle and then a yelp as a crossbow bolt buried itself in deep in Shadow's hindquarters.

Bronwen let out a cry and then swung angrily to face her wolf's attacker. The elf woman Eleena merely grinned and lowered her weapon before glowing with arcane light.

By Andraste's Holy sword…she was a mage….

The agonised howl from the great wolf as bolts of magical energy slammed into his side were cut off sharply as the qunari beneath him plunged a knife into his shaggy chest.

Beside her, Nathaniel fought with three men. One of them was already bleeding from a fatal wound and she cried out as another seemed to vanish only to reappear behind the noble Grey Warden.

The Voice sang in the snowy air as she plunged it deep into the back of the assassin and he crumpled, dead before he had even hit the ground as Nathaniel executed a devastating sweep that killed one of the other assassins and sent his associate scuttling backwards as a deep red gash appeared across his leather clad chest.

Bronwen suddenly cried out in alarm. The qunari had scrambled to his feet and charged at Nathaniel. Reacting quickly, the Howe Warden spun about and tried to sidestep his foe but the horned warrior was fast.

Too fast.

His solid forehead connected squarely with the Nathaniel's own brow and Bronwen watched helplessly as her companion turned as white as the falling snow. With a look of agonised regret, Nathaniel slumped to the ground as red blood began to cascade down his face.

His eyes were closed as the qunari leered over him and a cry of pure hate filled rage was ripped from Bronwen's lips as she lashed out at the horned warrior with her blade. He merely backhanded her with one of his mighty fists and her world exploded into darkness. A moment later, she realised she was sprawled upon the ground a few feet away with her babe lying just out of reach.

Panic and terror seized her as she realised Alexander was no longer crying and she desperately began to crawl to his side.

Suddenly, her body was wracked with numbing pain and she felt the tingle of arcane energy around her as Eleena unleashed yet another spell that held her in place. She struggled futilely against the magical paralysis and each attempt brought a fresh rush of pain that lanced through her body, but she had to keep trying…she had to reach Alexander…

She felt something seize her ankle and begin pulling her along on her back toward a rundown shack just ahead. She was practically flung into the corner as the effects of the spell began to wear off but as she tried to rise, she found herself staring up into the lust filled eyes of the qunari warrior.

"Now we play." He rumbled ominously, divesting himself of his weapons.

"Yes my warrior…" The elven woman purred as she appeared in the doorway cradling Alexander in her arms. "I believe that the contract stated that she was to suffer before her death, so take your time my love…make her bleed."

Sheer terror tore into Bronwen's heart and bowels as the qunari grabbed her by the throat and forced his face down to hers, licking and tasting her as if she was so much meat. His other hand strayed down to his breeches and Bronwen screamed as he began to tug at the laces, trying to free the iron hardness of his growing erection.

She tried to struggle, to fight…not for herself but for Alexander.

"Please…" She begged. "Please…my son…"

"Oh don't worry, Your Highness." Eleena crouched by her head and fixed her increasingly excited stare onto Bronwen's face as the qunari finally freed his member with a grunt. "He's quite safe for now. We were to do as we wished with the whelp and I think he'll bring a fine price in the Tevinter Slave Markets, don't you?"

The sound of his cries as the elf began to laugh brought a measure of relief as she realised her son was alive, but it was a short lived reprieve as the qunari was now tugging down her leather pants and trying to force his tongue into her mouth. Fear and outrage gave her strength and Bronwen bit deeply into its meaty surface.

Then her world exploded into pain as he smashed his fist into her cheekbone.

Her head began to swim and spots danced in her vision as he forced himself between her legs and the sheer terror of what was about to happen finally hit her, clearing her mind of what would have been blessed oblivion. With a defiant cry, she closed her eyes against his leering visage as if that alone could prevent his violation.

But the agony of his penetration never came.

"For the Grey Wardens!"

She felt the qunari's great weight lift from her body as Alistair slammed his shield into the face of the beast.

Eleena cried out a warning as the King followed up the attack with a mighty swing of his father's powerful dragonbone blade, almost decapitating the qunari in one fell swoop. Instead, one of his horns tumbled to the ground and the mighty warrior bellowed in outrage as he grabbed his greataxe and turned to face this new foe.

"You filthy bastard!" Alistair snarled, taking in Bronwen's situation as she tried to haul her ruined pants back up to her waist with fingers that were still numb with shock. "You dared to hurt her! To hurt my family! I'll kill you for that!"

Bronwen was stunned by the ferocity with which Alistair leapt at the qunari. Though he was clad only in leather armour and not his customary heavy plate, the former Templar launched himself at the horned warrior like a lion! The qunari met each of his blows with his axe but so vicious was his attack that he was forced back against the wall.

The sound of chanting drew Bronwen's attention and she lunged at the elf woman near her, trying to distract her from her spell but then the very air around them to become still as Alistair's cleansing aura purged all arcane energies from the room.

Bellowing a war cry that almost knocked the qunari off his feet, Alistair again slammed his shield into the warrior and then followed with a devastating sweep of the dragonbone blade. It easily sliced through the red steel haft of the qunari's greataxe and the look of utter surprise on his cruel face as it carried on into his chest was the last he would ever wear.

With a grunt, the warrior dropped to his knees as blood began to spill from his lips, bubbling and frothing as his lungs tried to draw breath into a body that was no longer capable of life. A final sweep of Alistair's shield and he was hurled backward to land in a heap unmoving and finally dead.

A piercing scream dragged Bronwen's attention back to the elf woman.

"Spawn of Maferath!" She screamed at Alistair, staring at the prone form of her companion. "You think you can do that to Brandt? You think you can take him away from me!"

Alistair whirled about and took a step closer to her, but the elf produced a slim dagger and held it above the throat of the wailing baby still clasped in her arms.

"No Eleena! Stop!"

Slowly climbing to her feet, Bronwen met Alistair's fear stricken gaze and shook her head. Even now he regarded her with such love and anguish that she thought her heart might burst.

"Oh no no, bastard son of a king's whore…" Eleena breathed, her green eyes tinged with madness and murder. "If you want to keep _her_, then you get to lose _him_."

"Wait!" Bronwen cried as the elf looked from Alistair to her and back again. "How about this…"

She took a careful step forward as she held up her hands.

"You put the baby down and we let you walk away."

"What! Are you insane?" Alistair lunged forward and the elf pushed the dagger more insistently toward Alexander's throat as he wailed in uncomprehending fear.

"Stop!" Bronwen held up her hand as tears gleamed in her eyes. "Please, just…just…leave the boy. He is an innocent in all this. He doesn't deserve…."

"Doesn't deserve…DOESN'T DESERVE…!" The elf was screaming now, her hand trembling with rage and spittle at the corners of her mouth. "And did Brandt deserve to die? My beautiful qunari, did he deserve that!"

"He tried to rape my wife." Alistair cried, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. "He tried to…to…violate her in the worst way possible!"

"She would have loved it!" The elf yelled back, eyes blazing with indignation. "Spreading her legs for a real man instead of her boy king, she would have begged him for more even as the light died in her eyes as they always did, but only I loved him! Only I could satisfy him and he always came back to me! TO ME!"

Bronwen gulped as she spotted a trickle of blood on Alexander's little throat and she tried to think of something…of anything…

"Please…I know what you're going through." She began, inching closer to the deranged elf. "I know what it is to love someone that you've lost, someone that you would give your life to be with, someone that you would die for…"

"No." The elf spat, her lips curling as she teased the blade at the throat of her son. "You don't know...but you will."

"Please!" Bronwen fell to her knees as tears began to pour down her face. "You don't have to do this! You can give him back to me and walk free!"

"For Andraste's sake, let him go or I swear by the Maker you will follow him into the next world." Alistair was ashen and tears glistened in his eyes, but his voice was steady and he held his blade ready to strike.

"Stupid pathetic fool." The elf snarled as she readied to strike. "_They_ will come after me for my failure. You cannot threaten me, I am already dead."

"Ah Eleena, how truly perceptive you are …"

The elf suddenly convulsed and a choked gasp escaped her lips as both dagger and child fell from her nerveless hands. She wavered unsteadily on her feet before falling backwards onto the ground as her assailant lunged forward and snatched up the child.

Wordlessly, he knelt beside Bronwen and passed Alexander to her with trembling hands. She let out an exultant sob of relief as she clutched him to her breast and then looked up breathlessly into the beautiful bronzed face of his rescuer.

The corners of his mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile as he hesitantly stretched out a gloved hand to caress the soft black hair of the crying infant in her arms and when his searching amber eyes finally met hers, there were un-spilled tears within their glittering depths and his voice was raw with emotion.

"Hello, my heart…"


	12. Assassins and Kings

ASSASSINS AND KINGS

"Zev…?"

Zevran Arainai felt his heart wrench as he looked at his son cradled so tenderly in the arms of the Warden and fought the urge to gather them both into his arms there and then. Bronwen was obviously hurt and her beautiful face was starting to colour with ugly purple bruises while her clothes hung in a ruin about her waist.

Just what had happened before he arrived? What had caused her to have that haunted look and for Alistair to be shaking so…

He spotted the body of the qunari in the corner, his face a mess of blood and bone and more surprisingly his breeches undone. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach as realisation knotted his gut.

"I am here, my heart. I am here." He murmured softly, reaching out to gently cup her cheek and draw her to him. "What did that _cerdo_ do to you…?"

"Nothing." She whispered, fresh blood on her lips. "Alistair stopped him."

Zevran looked into her tearful grey eyes and cursed himself for his late arrival.

If only he had set out to look for her sooner.

If only he had gone with Howe to the palace.

If only…

"Thank the Maker!"

He jumped back as Alistair dropped to his knees beside his wife and gathered her up in a desperate embrace, peppering her face with kisses.

"Are you alright, my love? I knew I shouldn't have hesitated. I should have never let you out of my sight!"

Zevran could see her stiffening uncomfortably beneath Alistair's attention and yet he could not bear to watch as the former Templar pressed her to his broad chest. Though she flashed him a regretful look over her husband's muscular shoulders, Zevran felt like he was intruding on a moment that he had no right to be part of and he rose awkwardly to his feet and turned away.

"Alistair." He heard her say gently. "Alistair, you're crushing the baby and hurting me…"

"Oh, of course. I'm…I'm sorry." There was definite hurt in the other man's voice and Zevran winced out of sympathy for his situation. "What about Alexander…is he…?"

At that, the Antivan turned round and fixed his gaze upon the babe…_his_ babe…his beautiful son no less, resting in the safety of the Warden's arms.

"He is well as far as I can tell." She sighed, obvious concern on her face and love creasing into lines of worry. "I just want to take him home and get him out of this cold."

There was an unspoken plea in her eyes as she met Zevran's gaze and he offered her a reassuring smile.

"I will of course escort you wherever you _wish_ to go."

"While we're grateful for your help and everything…" Alistair snapped, suddenly looking at him with suspicion and open hostility. "Can you explain to us just what you are doing here or is this just some glaring coincidence?"

"I'm sorry?" Zevran retorted. "You think I had anything to do with this?"

"Well correct me if I'm wrong, but those animals were assassins weren't they?" Alistair took an aggressive step forward and scowled darkly. "Let's be honest, you did try to kill us once. How do we know that you haven't returned to finish the job?"

"And here I was thinking I had proved my loyalty when we faced the Archdemon!" Zevran fought hard to quell the urge to knock the king back on his pompous ass. "I am here for…for…other business."

"Business that brought you into the alleyways of Denerim?"

"Alistair…" The Warden tried to grab his attention.

"You must think I'm royally stupid to…"

"Alistair."

"…trust in anything that you say, assassin!"

"Alistair!" Bronwen's eyes flashed dangerously as she slowly climbed to her feet. "Zevran just saved the life of my son. What do you think you're doing?"

"It just all seems mightily convenient." Alistair retorted. "Or is that just me?"

"I should think you'd be happy he was here." Bronwen snapped, her face turning pale. "Although, it begs the question…just how did _you_ get here so quickly?"

"I'm not the one who just showed up out of the blue!" Alistair yelled, his face flushing hotly. "I live here remember? In the big palace, doing that _King of Ferelden _thing that you so kindly talked me into! Not to mention the fact that I just stopped that animal from raping you!"

"Yes…yes, you did." She glanced away as a stricken look crossed her face. "But the palace is on the other side of Denerim. How did you come to be here?"

Alexander was crying in her arms and Zevran took a step closer and offered him a conciliatory smile.

"I…I…" Alistair began as his eyes drifted uncomfortably from Bronwen's face to the floor. "I was following you."

"Following me…?" She stared at her husband in surprise and then her cool grey eyes met Zevran's own in alarm. "To what end?"

"I'd rather not say, not in front of the _assassin_, anyway." Alistair's lip curled slightly and Zevran found himself bristling.

"Perhaps this is not the best time, eh?" He supplied, trying to break the growing tension.

"Tell me." Bronwen insisted, her voice soft but full of steel. "Tell me…now."

"I thought…that is…Eamon and I suspected…" He seemed to sag as if the strength had left his body and when he looked up there was guilt all over his face. "We thought you were having an affair with Howe."

Mixed emotions surged through Zevran's body, relief being paramount but then he started as Bronwen turned pale and rushed out of the door.

"Warden, wait! What are you…?"

"Nathaniel! By the Maker!"

With a scathing glance at Alistair, he quickly followed her out with the former Templar hot on his heels. They came to a sudden halt as they spotted her, crouched by the motionless form of the Howe rogue.

"Nathaniel! Nathaniel, can you hear me?" She sounded desperate as she brushed the fallen snow from his face and leant over him.

Zevran quickly reached into his pack and pulled out an injury kit before joining her at his side. There was a ragged tear in Howe's forehead and he looked as pale as the grave but when he placed his pointed ear next to his lips, there were still the faint stirrings of his breath against his skin.

"Zev…is he?" Bronwen asked, her eyes wide.

"He lives." He stated simply, but then flashed a look at Alistair. "But he must have help and he must have it soon. I can stabilise him with this, but he needs a warm bed and even warmer attention from a healer."

"There is a healer at the palace, one of the best." Alistair offered straight away, his good nature overriding his suspicious outrage. "I'll hurry back there and send help, then we can put him up in one of the guest rooms."

"Why not my bedroom since that's where you seem to think he belongs!" Bronwen snapped, tiredness and worry clouding her thoughts and adding harsh tones to her words.

"Perhaps it would be best if you accompanied Alistair with the little one." Zevran interjected, looking anxiously toward her. "I shall wait here and see no further harm comes to your companion."

The look she gave him suggested she wasn't too keen on the idea.

"Please, my heart." He added more quietly. "I will join you presently, I swear it."

"I…I…" She was about to argue but then Alexander let out a wail. "You're right. I need to get him out of this cold. Please be careful Zev."

He offered her a reassuring smile and then watched as Alistair stepped forward and helped her climb unsteadily to her feet. When he turned back to the rogue, he poured some foul smelling unguent onto the ghastly looking wound and then pressed a dressing to it before binding it in place with a bandage.

"We need to get him into shelter." He muttered as the snow continued to fall. "Alistair, would you help me carry him or is that not something one should ask of the King of Ferelden?"

Alistair shot him a withering glance and then hooked his hands under Howe's shoulders as Zevran grabbed his legs. Together, they carried the unconscious Warden into the shack and lay him down, away from the bodies of the two assassins.

"Ah good." Zevran mused. "At least in here, he's out of the cold… ungh!"

Alistair roughly shoved him against the wooden walls and his face was twisted with suspicion as he held him tightly in his grasp.

"I've never trusted you Arainai, never." His voice was filled with anger but remarkably low and controlled. "If I find out you had anything to do with this…"

"What?" Zevran scowled darkly. "You are sadly mistaken if you think I would ever hurt her or…the baby. I would rather face a hundred darkspawn unarmed than ever allow anything to happen to either of them."

He suddenly brought up his arms and twisted them, breaking Alistair's grip in a heartbeat.

"Better to wonder just who would want her dead, don't you think?" He considered the larger man for a moment and then flicked his eyes to the doorway. "Go on. Take her back to the palace, _Your Majesty_. When I see you next, you and I should talk I think…don't you?"

"Why are you in Ferelden?" Alistair's eyes narrowed.

"Why are you following your wife?" Zevran countered. "We all have our secrets, no?"

The former Templar seemed about to say something else, but then he turned abruptly and stalked out of the shack. Zevran watched him leave with interest and then found his eyes wandering to the body of the elven assassin still lying on the ground where he'd stabbed her.

The paralysing poison on his blade must surely have been wearing off by now.

Not that she would ever make it out of here alive…

From his pack, he took another vial of liquid and then poured a few drops between the parted lips of the assassin.

"Eleena, my dear." He called softly. "Eleena, I know that you can hear me."

Her green eyes fluttered as awareness crept back into her mind and she stared up at him with recognition dawning in her face.

"Guild Master…" She croaked, reaching for him. "Guild Master, we have failed you."

"Failed me?" Zevran murmured softly. "How so? From where I sit I should say you have acquitted yourself perfectly."

"We have?" A twisted look of confusion crossed her face and she chewed her lip. "But…the Queen, she still lives and I've lost the suckling whelp. Oh Master…my Brandt is…is…"

"Brandt is recovering well." Zevran lied, throwing a look over his shoulder to the corpse of the big qunari before returning his gaze to elf woman. "He is merely resting after his…efforts. I just wanted to congratulate you personally you on so fine a job."

"But Cesare said…Cesare said…" She threatened to drift back out of consciousness so Zevran gave her a few more drops from the vial.

"Cesare said what, my dear?"

"He said you mustn't know…that the contract would be difficult for you." She coughed and Zevran ignored the dark blood that spat forth from her mouth. "He said it was worth too much money and that she had already paid to see it done…she had to suffer you see…she had to suffer…"

"Who Eleena? Who paid us so well for the Queen's death?"

Eleena's voice was fading to a whisper and Zevran leaned in close to hear her. When the name passed her lips, his knuckles tightened around the blade of his dragonbone dagger and he drew it purposefully from its sheath.

"Ah Eleena…you have done well." A chill crept into his heart and he gritted his teeth against the fury that began to course through his veins. "Now I think, you deserve a rest."

"Thank you Master…I'm so very tired."

"Don't mention it."

The force with which he swiped the enchanted blade across her throat almost severed the elf's head from her shoulders.

The death of the contract holder, well…that would not be so mercifully swift.

* * *

"My love!" Alistair jumped up from his chair by the fire, knocking over the small table and upsetting the tray of food and drink onto the floor. "I didn't know…that is, I wasn't expecting you to come."

"I'm not disturbing you am I?" Bronwen said, smiling as she watched him scrambling around to pick up the fruits and cheese as they rolled out of reach.

"No…of course not." He lifted his head and looked at her with those rich hazel eyes that she had gotten lost in so many times before. "This is your bedchamber too you know, even if you do choose to sleep elsewhere."

"Alistair…" She sighed and then paused. Seeing him in the firelight, his thick woollen robe open to the waist revealing the glistening skin of his broad muscled chest, he looked every inch the hero of Ferelden and she felt a rush of warmth to her cheeks.

He was still a handsome man and looked even more so in the golden glow of the flames. His dusky blond hair was freshly washed and unkempt and his strong chin was covered in a day's growth of stubble that only seemed to emphasise the classical lines of his chiselled features.

Flushing furiously she looked at the ground and swallowed hard as a ball of regret and uncertainty swelled at the base of her throat.

"Are you alright my dear?" Alistair asked, concerned at her silence.

"Yes…I…" She began to shake as her stomach knotted with the pain of what she was about to do. "I came here to talk to you…to tell you…"

Her knees buckled as she fought to free the words from her lips that would not only end her marriage, but also deeply wound the most decent honourable man she had ever known.

"Alistair, I…I'm…!" A strangled sob choked off her words and she found herself suddenly gathered up into Alistair's warm embrace as she wept openly in his arms.

Pain, terror and relief all surged through her body as the events of the night finally caught up with her and Bronwen clung desperately to the former Templar as he stroked her hair and whispered soft words of reassurance into her ear.

In her mind's eye she could see the bestial face of the qunari as he hovered over her and the twisted grin on the face of the elf witch as she held her son. The feeling of utter hopelessness and revulsion as the warrior had yanked down her breeches had hidden itself into the deep recesses of her consciousness but now with the threat gone and her son tucked up safely in his crib, Bronwen finally succumbed to the wracking emotions that tore through her body.

"You're safe now." Alistair murmured, his touch like a soothing balm to her fevered skin. "I won't let anything or anyone ever harm you or the baby again. I love you both so much…"

She felt him trembling and her gaze was drawn to his. His lips were parted slightly and his innocent eyes were full of care and compassion. For once, the distance that had grown between them seemed to have vanished and she felt herself pulled to him in a way she hadn't been since the birth of Alexander.

Slowly, he lowered his head and his soft lips brushed against hers. He tasted of vaguely of apple and the scent of fresh soap clung to his skin. Gentle hands held her close as she returned his kiss, feeling the safety and comfort of his arms and closing her eyes against the memory of her pain.

Alistair was her champion, her shining knight, her husband and her king…

But he was not her love.

With a tearful sigh, she gently pulled away from him and looked deeply into his eyes.

"Alistair, this isn't fair." She murmured softly. "I can't do this to you."

"Do what?" He replied, confusion drawing a line across his brow. "Kiss me? You're my wife, my one true love…no, my only love. When I'm near you I feel like I'm going crazy and I can't think straight until I hold you in my arms. The day you gave me your heart was one of the greatest days of life and then, when you gave me a son…"

"Please Alistair." She reached out to touch him and to stop the outpouring from his heart.

"No, I need to say this!" He exclaimed, his eyes shining with hope. "Whatever is between us now, whatever it is that is eating you up inside, I know that we can work it out. Maker's breath, I love you so much surely there is nothing we can't overcome if we stand together!"

"It's not that simple." Bronwen replied with a heavy sigh. "There is so much I need to tell you, so much we have to discuss…"

"Then let's get it out now, here in the open." He was smiling, so certain of her heart that he was willing to hear anything she had to say. "I know what I feel for you my love, and I know that we can be happy together. It's worth a shot isn't it? If only for the sake of our son…"

"Alistair. I have to tell you something, but I'm not sure how…"

There was a sharp rap on the door before it opened wide to admit Arl Eamon.

"Your Majesty, the guards have returned and the Grey Warden is being attended to by the healer. As for your new _guest_…oh, Your Highness. I didn't expect to find you here."

"Oh really?" Bronwen felt her heart harden as her eyes narrowed, regarding the old man with barely concealed contempt. "Just where did you expect me to be? Waiting anxiously in my room for news of my _alleged _lover's condition…? So sorry to disappoint you."

"Your Highness, I meant no offence." Eamon frowned then shook his head. "I merely thought you would be sleeping after your ordeal. It is not something a woman should ever have to endure and I am truly sorry that you chose to leave the palace without escort. If you had only informed us where you were going…"

"I beg your pardon!" Bronwen snorted in disbelief. "You want me to inform you of where I choose to go within my own kingdom?"

"Forgive me Highness, but you are the Queen-Consort of Ferelden." Eamon countered. "You have a duty to the people you protect and the crown you wear. Sneaking off like a thief in the night is not the action of a responsible ruler."

"You would prefer I sit quietly at home while Alistair rules under your so called guidance?" She couldn't help the sneer that crossed her face. "The same guidance, I might add, that no doubt put the idea that Nathaniel and I were having an affair into his head in the first place!"

"Hey, hey!" Alistair called, stepping between them and scowling. "I can think for myself you know."

"Your Majesty, her Highness is obviously distressed…"

"Distressed. Distressed!" Bronwen took a step forward, her fists clenched at her side. "One of my best friends lies close to death, my wolf…my beloved Shadow was banished back to his plane of existence and possibly killed, I was nearly raped and my son sold into slavery and you think I'm distressed!"

"Easy, my love." Alistair spoke in soft tones then turned a steely gaze upon the Arl. "Look Eamon, if that's all you have to say, I think you should leave. My wife has had enough upset tonight and the last thing she needs right now is to be lectured by you."

Eamon flashed Alistair a surprised look and then politely inclined his head.

"As you wish, Your Majesty." Recovering his bearing, the Arl turned to leave but then paused at the door. "Just one further thing. As instructed, I have posted a watch on the quarters of a new arrival. It does not do well to have an assassin roaming the halls of the palace, especially after tonight's attack."

"Thank you Eamon." Alistair flushed as the door closed with a thump.

"You've put a guard on Zevran?" Bronwen was incredulous.

"Oh come on!" Alistair sighed exasperatedly. "Those _were_ assassins that ambushed you and it wasn't so long ago that Zevran would have gladly helped them along with it!"

"Maker's Breath Alistair!" Bronwen exclaimed in frustration. "May I remind you that is was Zevran who fought at our side during the Blight, that it was Zevran who came to Fort Drakon when we were captured by Loghain and that is was Zevran who saved Alexander!"

"That's all very well and good." Alistair countered stepping back from her obvious annoyance. "But last I heard he was doing rather well for himself in Antiva, so just what is he doing here in Ferelden? Aren't you the least bit suspicious?"

"No, I'm not. I trust him…always have." Bronwen felt suddenly uncomfortable under Alistair's searching gaze and turned away. "Listen…I'm feeling a little tired. Maybe we should talk tomorrow once the morning session of Court is over. I'll wait for you in your private study afterwards and we can speak freely, just the two of us with no interruptions."

"I'd like that." Alistair replied softly, then cast an awkward glance toward the bed. "You could stay here you know…if you really wanted to."

"I don't think that would be a very good idea." She replied, her heart breaking at the tenderness in his tone. "Besides, I want to be near Alexander tonight."

"I understand." He almost managed to hide the look of disappointment and hurt that flickered across his face. "You've been through a lot."

"For what it's worth…" Bronwen reached out a hand and cupped Alistair's stubbly chin against her palm. "What you did tonight, the way you rushed in…you were like a hero of old and I have never been so proud to be your wife as I was just then. Whatever happens, I want you to know that I care for you so much more than I can ever express in words. You will always be a hero to me Alistair Theirin."

"I don't feel very heroic at the moment." Tears glistened in his hazel eyes as he spoke. "More sort of…terrified."

"You are stronger than you know, my king." She gently lowered her hand and began to walk slowly toward the door. "Good night Alistair…and thank you for my life."

Thankfully, he said nothing further as she left the royal bedroom. The way he'd looked at her and the way she'd felt in his arms were almost too much to bear and her resolve had nearly crumbled as she considered just what she was losing by leaving such a thoughtful husband, wonderful father and handsome loving man.

However, to live a lie with him was infinitely more cruel.

Her heart belonged to Zevran.

As Bronwen approached the nursery door she paused, distracted by the sound of someone singing softly within. The timbre was much too low to be that of Arianne and there were no words to the song, just a plaintive tune that reminded her strangely of leafy forests and of wide open spaces fondly travelled. Gently pressing her fingertips to the solid wood, she eased it open and curiously peered inside.

There he stood in the centre of the room, gently cradling the baby in his arms. She couldn't see his face, but she could make out the delicately pointed tips of his ears as they poked through the cascade of white gold hair that flowed down to his shoulders. He was dressed all in black with a silken shirt and soft buckskin breeches that were tucked into a pair of calf length leather boots and each piece of clothing seemed designed to emphasise his svelte elven physique.

She couldn't help the deep sharp breath that lanced into her chest as her heart began to race.

At that, Zevran turned to face her and his glittering amber eyes locked onto her own cool greys as a delicate smile began to trace its way across his generous mouth. His skin glinted like bronze in the firelight and it cast accentuating shadows under his finely sculpted cheekbones as he tilted his head toward the boy.

"Alejandro, my son." He whispered. "Though pleased I am to have at last made your acquaintance, I must now speak with your beautiful mother. We have been apart for too long you see…much too long..."

Closing the door behind her, Bronwen Theirin stepped into the nursery.


	13. Honey and Spice

HONEY AND SPICE

"How did you get in here?" Bronwen's voice was barely audible as she stared at the Antivan elf before her. "Eamon said he'd placed a guard on your door."

"And so he did, amora." Zevran flashed her a broad smile as he perched on the end of her bed. "The guard was certainly most efficient at watching the door. Shame he didn't watch the window quite so well…"

"You climbed out…" Her eyes widened in amazement. "Zev, we're three floors up and the walls are thick with ice and snow. You could have gotten yourself killed!"

"True, but I wasn't about to die without seeing you or my son now was I?" His eyes drifted down to the babe in his arms and he smiled softly. "He is...beautiful is he not?"

Bronwen felt her heart beginning to pound as she watched the tenderness with which he held the boy.

"You know, I think I would like to give him something." Zevran reached inside his shirt and pulled out a jewelled earring that was attached to the golden chain about his neck. "It seems an appropriate moment to give him this."

Bronwen creased her brow in puzzlement as she gently sat down next to him and peered at the treasure.

"I acquired it on my very first job for the Crows." Zevran explained, his amber eyes flickering brightly in the firelight. "A Rivaini merchant prince and he was wearing a single, jewelled earring when I killed him…in fact, that's all he was wearing."

He smiled suggestively and inclined his head.

"Anyway, I thought it was beautiful and took it to mark the occasion. I've kept it ever since and I'd like him to have it. When he's older he can sell it, or wear it…or whatever he likes. It's really the least I can give him, no?"

With great care he placed the golden chain about his neck and then sighed happily.

"It's meant a lot to me, but so does he…and so too does his mother. I have no better way to say it." Zevran flushed, suddenly looking awkward and uncomfortable as Alexander began to whimper. "Oh, have I done something wrong, I mean…is he well?"

"He's tired Zev." Bronwen said softly, reaching out to take their child from his embrace. "Young men are not meant to be up at this hour. They should be sleeping in their beds and dreaming of pleasant things."

She gently carried the boy over to his crib and lay him down amongst the soft furs and blankets. Within moments, his little chest rose and fell with the contented sleep of the innocent.

"I think he knows who you are." She whispered, watching as Alexander slumbered on. "I've never seen him look so…peaceful."

"I know how he feels." Zevran sighed as he rose to his feet and came to her side. "I would not have believed that I could feel so…_strongly_ until I saw him tonight. When I thought that he was in danger…"

A flicker of pain crossed his face and Bronwen instinctively reached out to cradle his cheek in her hand.

"You saved his life, Zev. No father could ever do more for his son."

At her touch, his eyes flicked to her face and she felt a jolt of feeling surge down her spine. Confident hands reached around her shoulders to stroke the smooth blackness of her hair and he gently pulled her toward him as his full lips parted in certain anticipation.

Willingly, she leaned into him and scented the honeyed sweetness of his breath as he peppered her face with feather-light kisses. His tongue sought to plunder the welcome opening of her mouth and she sighed deeply as she readily accepted it within. Her own tongue twined around his almost playfully as each sought to pull the other into a kiss so passionate that she felt the burning stirrings of desire beginning to pulse achingly within her loins. His hands travelled down her spine and he pulled her closer, pressing his lithe body against hers as the extent of his own arousal became apparent at her hip.

Then he broke from her embrace and sighed as a strange look crossed his face.

"Zev, what is it?" She breathed, trembling from the nearness of his presence. "Do you not want me?"

"Oh I want you, my heart and indeed I am yours but…" He shook his head and smiled uneasily. "Surely there is something else on your mind other than that? Alistair perhaps…"

"Alistair?" Bronwen shook her head in confusion. "Why would you think…?"

"I know you were with him just now." Zevran replied with a shrug. "And since the guards did not come hammering at my door to haul me away to the palace dungeons, I would hazard a guess that you have not yet told him of our son…or of us."

"I find it is not so easy." Bronwen sighed, feeling the lingering warmth of his embrace turning into chill. "I went there to tell him Zev, by the Maker I swear it, but he still has such hope…such faith in me…"

"So then you wish to remain here, no?" There was a glint of anger in his eyes and he moved away from her before sitting down heavily on the end of her bed. "Alistair gets to play husband to a woman who no longer loves him and father to a son that isn't even his, but this is fine. He can continue the rest of his life in blissful ignorance of the truth while you think to keep your elven lover on the side to act as a babysitter once in a while?"

"Zevran…" Bronwen stared at him in disbelief. "That's not what I want at all! By Andraste's bloody tears man, don't you know what I feel about you?"

"Well correct me if I'm wrong, amora, but we have been in this position before have we not?" He crossed his arms and regarded her intently. "Last time I held you in my arms and felt your body beneath mine, you chose the boy king instead of your own heart's desire. How am I to know that it will be any different now?"

"You have a son Zev! We have a son! He deserves to grow up knowing his mother and his father, can't you see that?" She felt tears of frustration beginning to burn in her eyes. "As for the time we were together, when I felt you inside me I knew that it was over for Alistair and me, but I was always taught that duty was paramount. As the daughter of the Teryn of Highever and as a Grey Warden, I was obliged to honour my promise to him and to Ferelden. I felt like I couldn't just cast that aside for the sake of love."

As the words tumbled from her lips, she saw his eyes widen.

"Yes, that's right Zevran…I love you. Always have." She sighed heavily and chewed her lip. "I love you more than I can ever express, for what it's worth. Doesn't that mean anything to you? Don't I mean anything to you?"

"I…I…really do not know what to say." The Antivan's apparent anger seemed to dissolve into confusion as he held out his hands towards her. "I am acting like a child, I realise…I apologise."

She allowed herself to be drawn toward him and realised he was trembling and unable to meet her gaze.

"Let me try to explain." He began, his fingers twining with hers as he pulled her down beside him. "An assassin must learn to forget about sentiment. It is dangerous. You take your pleasures where you can when life is good and to expect anything more would be reckless. At the time, I thought it was the same between us…something to enjoy, a pleasant diversion and little more and yet…"

"And yet…you do feel something for me." Bronwen pressed as Zevran finally lifted his eyes to hers. "In your letter, you said that you loved me too. Is that true?"

"I think so." Zevran answered honestly, as if trying to reassure himself of his feelings. "But how would you know such a thing for certain?"

"How do you know if you love someone…?" She shook her head and smiled sadly. "Are you really so reluctant to trust your heart?"

"You forget, I grew up amongst those who sold the illusion of love and then I was trained to make my heart cold in favour of the kill." He frowned as he brushed aside a strand of golden hair that had fallen across his face. "Everything I have been taught says what I feel is wrong, yet I cannot help it. Ever since I read your letter and you told me of our son and of _your own_ heart, I have been nothing but confused. Do you understand me at all?"

"I think I do." For a moment, all the bravado was gone and she found herself looking into the amber eyes of a man who had been taught that feelings were a weakness and had never known love without cost. She had never seen Zevran so truly vulnerable. "What can I say that will make this easier for you?"

"All I need to know is if there might be some future for us, some possibility of…I do not know what." He looked almost shy as his feelings finally asserted themselves. "Would that I had a ring, I would have given it to you as a token of my affection…"

"Is that meant to be taken as a proposal…?" Bronwen breathed as he began to lean in close.

"Not unless you wish it." He replied, his face mere inches from her own.

"With all my heart, Zevran. With all my heart…"

His lips again met hers in a passionate kiss before he gently pushed her down onto the soft mattress beneath. As he reclined beside her, he ran his fingers through her silky black hair while his tongue began to blaze a trail of sensation across her jaw line to the responsive skin beneath her ear.

She couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips as he began to nibble at her neck, sending a ripple of pleasure running down her spine that caused her loins to throb with desperate longing.

His expert hands travelled down her body to find the soft plumpness of her breasts and he gently stroked the smooth skin that spilled invitingly over the top of her gown. His kisses became more insistent as his deft fingers began to pull at the laces holding the bodice together and she sighed passionately as he freed her torso both of the restrictive garment and the silken shift beneath.

"Beautiful…" He murmured, grinning mischievously as he studied her milk heavy breasts. "My son has excellent taste!"

"Careful…" She warned, colouring slightly under his scrutiny. "They're very sensitive and uh, full…ungh!"

Bronwen's back arched as the elf cupped a pale mound in each hand and gently circled her erect rosy nipples with his thumbs. She writhed in pleasurable torment as he expertly caressed her flesh into a heightened state of arousal, and then whimpered with delight as he began to place delicate kisses around her tender buds.

"Zev…" She gasped, closing her eyes and revelling in his touch. "Remember, I'm a nursing mother…"

"Do not worry yourself, amora." He whispered between well-placed kisses. "I will only do whatever you desire, as has been my only want since the day we met."

His touch was feather-light as he finally slid the gown down her body and dropped it unceremoniously at the foot of the bed.

"Ah, my heart…" He purred, resting back on his heels as his eyes wandered over her voluptuous curves. "How often I have thought of you like this…"

She raised her head to watch him as he pulled off his shirt. His body was lean and hard, the muscles of his lithe frame rippling with each movement and he smiled as he noticed her taking him in with hungry eyes. With deliberate slowness, he pulled off his boots then began to undo the laces of the soft black leather breeches he wore.

Bronwen felt her breath coming in ragged gasps as the leather parted to reveal a trail of golden hair that ran from his navel to his groin. As he slid the breeches clear of his perfectly sculpted hips, his arousal broke free of the confining hide and the tip glistened wetly with the dewy promise of his want.

Just seeing him there, bronzed body glowing in the firelight, hair shining like spun gold and his eyes ablaze with love and desire, she knew that there was no man who could ever make her feel the way she did when she was with the beautiful Antivan.

By the Maker…she wanted him so much.

"Ever since that night," He began, his voice low and leaden with intent. "I have wanted to be with you again…"

She gasped as he lightly rested his hands on her creamy white thighs and began to draw them upward toward her hips.

"To gaze upon you as you lay before me…"

He gently caressed the gentle bump of her abdomen and teased at the flimsy band of her smallclothes.

"To feel you trembling with such passion at my touch …"

He pressed a palm to the damp fabric covering her heat and pushed against her, easing her desperate ache but a little.

"And to be inside your body as deeply as you are inside my heart."

She almost cried aloud as he suddenly pushed aside her undergarments and slid his forefinger into her opening before withdrawing the creamy digit and licking her arousal from his finger.

"Your flavour is as delicious as I remember." He sighed, sliding her smallclothes off her hips and down her long legs. "I think I should like to taste more…"

"Zev…"

Bronwen's heart fluttered erratically in her chest as the elf pushed her legs apart and positioned himself at the red, swollen apex of her sex. She gripped the covers tightly as she anticipated the velvet feel of his tongue and fought to stifle the cries that she knew would reveal the intensity of their passion.

It was a useless struggle.

Zevran's tongue found her opening already wet with desire and he eagerly lapped at her cream as he nuzzled her folds. His fingers gently eased them apart, allowing him to fully explore her most sensitive areas and he moaned in delight as she herself began to squirm in pleasure, pushing onto his face as her opening pulsed with the need to be filled.

"Maker's breath…"

The shockwave of sensation as his lips settled over her hood and sucked her hidden pearl from its hiding place was more than she could stand. His stimulation pushed her to the brink of her tolerance and she tried desperately to pull away, but instead found herself held against him as his hand clasped her trembling thigh in defiance of her efforts.

Suddenly she felt a probing finger slide inside her, closely followed by another and it felt magnificent. He gently pushed up to his knuckles, the slow circling motions easing out the ache from her even as his mouth sought to bring her to a new level of awareness and she called his name as the budding pulse of orgasm began to build in intensity deep within.

Her closeness seemed to affect him too as he slowly slid his fingers out of her before plunging inside once more. Again he repeated the action and Bronwen panted in ecstasy as he rhythmically, deeply fucked her with his dextrous digits. Stifling a cry, she bit down hard onto her lip as she reached down to tangle her hands in his soft blond hair, pulling him onto her and thrusting her hips against his face. She could feel her wetness on his cheeks and hear his passionate moaning as he tasted and teased her to her peak.

"Zev…I…Maker…!"

Her mind emptied of all reason and her sex began to spasm tightly around him as the orgasm tore through her body. His pulsing, probing digits teased out every convulsion as she shuddered with wave after wave of indescribable pleasure until finally she collapsed, limp and spent onto the bed.

His gentle withdrawal from her body was followed by a sigh as he relaxed next to her, an amused glint in his eyes and a satisfied smile on his face.

"Oh Maker..." Bronwen murmured, looking up into his handsome face through heavily lidded eyes. "I've never felt so…alive…"

"Ah, My heart." He leaned over to kiss her, his tongue tasting of her own bitter musk. "Then I will dedicate my life to seeing that you always feel _so alive_ as often and as regularly as possible."

She laughed as he nuzzled her neck and then reached around his slender shoulders to pull him down for a deeper, longer kiss before fluttering her eyelashes coyly.

"And you my Antivan Assassin…what could I give you in return for such a service?"

"Oh ho?" Zevran grinned suggestively as he took his shaft in his hand and began to stroke its silken length. "Well, I am a man of simple tastes, amora. I'm sure you can think of something."

"I did have one idea." Bronwen giggled as she pushed him onto his back. "I hope you approve…"

The feel of his naked skin as she pressed against him was electric. Laying above him, looking down into his amber eyes she was drawn once again to his open mouth like a moth to the flame and she relished the feel of his lips as they met hers in a kiss that only seemed to inflame the ardour of their passion.

His hands caressed her back as she moved over his face, drawing her kisses down the sweep of his tattoo to follow his jaw to those perfectly pointed ears. She heard him groan as she took the tip of one into her mouth and gently suckled upon it before moving on to his throat, his collarbone and his muscular chest.

His nipples were far more responsive than she would have thought and as her tongue flicked over one, she gently tweaked the other with her fingertips causing him to arch his back in response. A gentle nip with her teeth and he was moaning loudly and uttering a series of curses in Antivan as he pressed the hardness of his member insistently against her hip.

Rather reluctantly, she left his deliciously sensitive torso and trailed her tongue down his finely muscled abdominals to the golden hair that led to his organ.

"Oh…" She heard him sigh as he realised her intent. "Now this should be good…"

His member felt warm and hard as she wrapped her fingers around its girth. Pre-cum glistened invitingly at the slit of his rosy hood as she began to slide his velvet foreskin back and he gasped as he gently thrust into her hand. Then she placed the very softest of kisses on his tip and smiled at the way he inhaled sharply, anticipating the wetness of her mouth.

Well, she didn't want to disappoint…

She began to swirl her tongue around his head, coating him in her saliva as she stimulated him. Her hand tightly grasped his thickness as she rhythmically tugged him, coaxing even more hardness from his swollen member and she felt her own juices creaming at her entrance, knowing that she was pleasing him.

"_Oh amora…_" He sighed suddenly, propping himself up on one elbow to watch her as he threaded his fingers into her raven hair. "_Eso se siente bien."_

Their eyes locked and she offered him an almost predatory smile before closing her lips over his head and sucking hard at his organ. He threw back his head with a snarl as she drew back, pulling his silken sheath toward her mouth and lapping up the fluid of his arousal that seeped freely from the end of his cock. Quickly she reversed her stroke and once again took him deeply, his tip bumping the back of her throat as she swallowed him down. Then she sucked him again and this time, she felt his grip tighten in her hair as his hips bucked forward to thrust into her hot wet mouth.

How long she teased him like this, she lost track but the sound of his gratified moaning was enough to spur her on as she milked him. His thrusting became more urgent with each passing minute and soon he was calling to her, begging her to stop as his organ stiffened with the urge to release his seed.

"Please, amora...please stop…." He panted, struggling for control as he gently pulled her head from his shaft. "_Te deseo, mi corazon_."

"I don't understand…"

The elf smiled broadly as stroked her cheek. "I said, _I want you, my heart_…"

Bronwen sighed as Zevran's deceptively strong arms pulled her upward to meet his lips, and he kissed her with an intensity that took her breath away.

She marvelled at the feeling of his heated flesh as they moulded together, breast meeting breast, abdomen pressing against abdomen and limbs intertwining as they sought to be become one not only in their hearts, but also in the sheer joy of their physical union. With a touch that was as teasing as it was feather-light, he trailed his expert hands down over the sweeping arc of her spine to grasp the curving fullness of her buttocks, coaxing her to raise her hips slightly, and Bronwen responded by reaching down to grasp his length and hold it erect.

"Wait…" He murmured, his breath hot against her cheek and Bronwen pulled back to gaze longingly into his amber eyes. "_Te amo, mi corazon. Quiero estar contigo para siempre_."

She smiled dreamily and shook her head. "I think I shall need to learn Antivan to fully understand you, my love."

"Oh, I think you understand well enough…" He sighed as his cock nudged past her engorged folds to push needfully at her entrance. "Before I do this, I…I just want you to know that I love you, my heart. Maker help me, but I love you…."

"Zev…" She breathed as he began to ease into her, his head finally cresting the tight circle of hers sex. "I love you too…"

"Then Let me see you." He asked, his eyes travelling over her body as she eased herself into a sitting position. "I want to see you as I feel you, to know that this is no longer merely just a dream."

"This is no dream…" She gasped, feeling him stiffening even more as she lowered herself onto him. "This is how it should always have been…"

Tears sprang to Bronwen's eyes as she finally took him fully inside her, and she moaned softly as her body reacted to the depth of his penetration. She could feel every part of his shaft as he inner walls closed about him, and the rhythm of his throbbing pulse was like a guide to her own pleasure. Flexing her thighs, she gradually eased herself up until he was barely inside her and then slowly slid back down.

Breathing heavily, Zevran responded with a gentle thrust of his own and she cried out as she felt each and every motion of their union, then wept with bliss as he pumped himself steadily within her. His fingers once more found her clitoris and he rubbed gently as she rode him, bringing such feeling to that organ that she thought she might scream with the intensity of it all.

"Amora…" He whispered as he watched her, his amber eyes burning intently. "I see you, my heart…I feel you…"

"Zevran…"

Bronwen groaned as she rode him, her pace quickening as pleasure turned to purpose in the need for mutual release. For his part Zevran seemed entranced by her actions, his eyes now drifting down from her face to watch the gentle bounce of her heavy breasts as she repeatedly slid up and down his length. Softly whispered words of Antivan became lustful moans as he enjoyed her, and soon she could feel him tensing beneath her as he lifted his torso on his hands to place a desperate, passionate kiss upon her lips.

There was a moment's disorientation as she was pushed backwards until she lay flat upon the bed, Zevran rolling with her and his length still buried inside. Grasping her legs, he gently pulled them about his waist, shifting until they were both comfortable, and then he positioned himself over her, flexing his hips so that he penetrated her more deeply than before.

As his long blonde hair fell across her face, he slid easily into her tight wetness, plunging his shaft into and filling her completely. His withdrawal stroke was just as smooth and he hesitated slightly before sliding back in with a more forceful thrust that smeared her cream over both of them, easing his passage and making her writhe in blissful torment.

The pressure was indeed building between them now as each sought to bring the other to their peak and the experienced elf used his full length to give depth to his wonderful penetration, which made her shudder and cry as he plunged into her with the full weight of his strong, well-muscled body.

Bronwen felt tears spring to her eyes as her feelings for Zevran were carried along on the powerful wave of orgasm that was beginning to wash over her. His cock reached the depths of her soul just as surely as it reached the depths of her body, and she gasped as her head began to swim with a heady mix of love, sex and euphoria.

Grasping her head and tangling his fingers in her silky black hair, his amber eyes blazed into her own as he took her, eagerly willing a climax of his own to explode within her body. Tenderness was lost in the sudden need for release and they both bucked hard against the other, driving their feelings on and up toward a climax that they both needed to reach.

"Zevran…Zev…Maker's breath, Zev!"

Her throat burned with his name as the pulsing throbbing onslaught of orgasm tore apart her will. She clawed at his back, her nails raking bloody trails across his golden skin as her sex spasmed in a liberating frenzy around his magnificent shaft.

Suddenly Zevran cried out as his cock stiffened rigidly inside her and tears sprang to his eyes as his hot sticky release erupted into a body, which was already overflowing with the wetness of their union. He shuddered as he filled her, whimpering with each throbbing pulse and it gave an added intensity to the glorious feeling of her own orgasm even as he drove further into her depths, making them both shake with the power of their combined climaxes.

Then it was as if his strength was taken from him…

"Oh Bronwen, mi amora." He panted as his arms began to tremble and he sank into her, struggling for breath and nuzzling into her hair.

"Zev…my love." She murmured softly, holding onto him tightly and feeling his hardness easing inside her as his flow finally began to cease.

They lay together like that for many moments, listening to nothing but the sound of their own ragged breathing and feeling each other's sweat soaked skin as fingertips lightly caressed backs and sides, calming one another after their rapturous exertions.

Then the sound of Alexander grumbling in his crib caused Bronwen to stir, and with a contented sigh she moved as if to rise but was gently held in place by the smiling elf.

"Oh no, you wait here, amora." Zevran whispered as he awkwardly climbed to his feet. "I will fetch him to you. I am yours after all…"

Bronwen slid up the bed and slipped beneath the covers as she watched the Antivan pad over to the cot and take the babe. Seeing him cradling the boy to his naked chest as he walked toward her brought a fresh rush of emotion to her heart and she wept happily to see father and son finally together and at her side.

"I think little Alejandro is hungry, no?" Zevran looked at her quizzically as he delivered the boy into her arms and she smiled back reassuringly.

"It would appear so." She whispered as she held a nipple to his mouth and felt him latch onto her plump breast. "He's not used to being disturbed at this hour by rambunctious elves!"

Zevran winked at her mock serious tone and then slid his arm around her shoulders.

"Ah, my heart." He began, his face becoming serious. "I never thought to know such happiness. To have lain with you like this, to see our son at your breast and to know the joy of being a father…am I wrong to want that every day? Am I wrong to think that we have a chance to be magnificent together?"

"No…" Bronwen replied, her voice cracking as she looked into his earnest face. "I want that too, Zev. I always have."

"Then I fear we have a difficult day ahead of us, amora." Zevran sighed heavily and then kissed her brow. "We must inform Alistair tomorrow that we are leaving. It has already been too long in the telling and I can no longer stand by and see you at his side or my son in his arms."

"It will be so hard for him, Zevran." She whispered, fear and guilt making her heart ache with pity for the former Templar. "He doesn't deserve this. He has every right to execute the pair of us, or even lock us up in the tower."

"He can try amora, but I swear he will not harm you as long as I draw breath." Zevran's voice was calm and even as he stared into her eyes. "No, tomorrow we are walking out of here to begin a new life in Antiva. Once we are there, no one can touch us…not even a king."

"Then I will speak to him alone." Bronwen sighed, her mind resolute and determined. "The truth will be hard enough to hear without you being…in his face so to speak."

"Are you certain this is a good idea?" Zevran's concern was very evident in the way his tattoo seemed to flex with the tension in his jaw.

"I am." She glanced down as Alexander finally stilled in her arms, his hunger sated. "I must do this alone, for both our sakes."

"I do not like it, but as you wish." Zevran placed a tender kiss upon her lips and then looked about for his discarded clothes. "Alas, I must ask you to forgive me amora, for if I am discovered here it will not go so well for us I think."

"I understand, Zev." She agreed sadly as she slid out of the bed to settle the baby. "If Alistair found out we'd been together tonight, it would break his heart."

"I am inclined to agree with you." Zevran murmured as he dressed quickly and pulled on his boots. "I just wish I didn't have to leave you like this."

With a sigh, he grabbed a dark, travel stained leather coat from the chair by the window and strapped on a pair of daggers across his back before finally hooking a pouch into his belt. He must have worn the coat during his climb as it still looked damp and as for the daggers, she'd never known the Antivan _not_ to be armed with something.

"Tell me of this tower." He began as he opened the window shutters and perched on the stone sill. "I take it only the best prisoners are held there?"

"Only the _very_ best, Zev." Bronwen answered, flashing him a wry smile. "We'll be rubbing shoulders with other former members of the royal house so at least we'll be in noble company...until the execution anyway."

"That's a relief. I'd hate to think I could end up in any old prison." He grinned broadly and then pulled up his hood to hide his golden hair. "Listen to me, do not worry yourself amora. I swear to you that all will be well. After tomorrow, we will have our lives free from all of this…complication. We are meant to be, you see. I knew it the moment you spared my life. Sleep well my heart."

With a flourish, he disappeared out of sight and into the shadows and Bronwen quickly drew the shutters against the cold and then turned back to the room.

How empty it seemed without Zevran in it…

But then again, hadn't it always felt like that?

* * *

He had to be wrong.

He _had_ to be wrong.

He couldn't have just left it like that. The touch of her lips had been intoxicating and he knew that if they only talked…if they only loved…

Then he'd heard her calling, crying out in the darkness with only the solid oak door between him and her rescue. He'd rushed along the corridor, wanting to fend off her attacker and sweep her up in his arms. No one, but no one would ever hurt her or their son.

Then she had ceased crying and he'd heard a name.

A name that escaped her lips with more passion and more feeling than he'd ever known.

A name that made him pause as his hand alighted on the iron door handle.

A name that wasn't his.

Strange…he'd willed his hand to turn the handle and open the door, it wasn't locked, and yet his body had stubbornly refused to co-operate. Instead he found himself listening to her voice, not much louder than a whisper now as she spoke to the other.

The other…it couldn't be.

He was mistaken.

Then he heard the other's voice and his face creased in agony.

Pain, cold as ice and sharp as steel bit into his heart. A pain almost as sharp as the one in his hand as he tightened his grip on the door handle.

By Andraste's holy light, how could it be?

She'd been so cold now for so long…was he really the reason?

He couldn't be.

She couldn't be.

He had to be wrong.

As he stumbled back to the royal bedchamber, Alistair Theirin didn't even notice the blood dripping from his hand.


	14. The Price

THE PRICE

Tsk tsk tsk…what would Alistair say if he knew his guards were so easily distracted?

Zevran grinned to himself as he ascended the darkened stairway that led to the uppermost tower of the Palace of Denerim.

He had woken in his room, refreshed and delighted to find that he still had her essence all over his body. He could smell the perfumed scent of her hair, feel the burn of her nails in the delicious wounds upon his back and as for the musk of her sex where he'd tasted her most intimate parts…ah yes, it still played tantalisingly upon his tongue …

Ah Bronwen, my dark beauty, my dearest Warden and above all…my heart, how happy you have made me.

He had been so afraid of whether or not she would understand him or if the baby would respond to his presence but now…now he felt an unfamiliar sense of contentment at the thought of spending his life by her side.

In truth, he had never contemplated such a thing before but when he had leaned close and felt her nearness, the words had tumbled from his lips as if they were the most natural thing in the world…

"_All I need to know is if there might be some future for us, some possibility of…I do not know what. Would that I had a ring, I would have given it to you as a token of… my affection." _

"_Is that meant to be taken as a proposal?"_

"_Not unless you wish it."_

"_With all my heart, Zevran. With all my heart…"_

Well, that had settled it really.

Provided Alistair didn't decide to lock her away, they were certain to have the marriage annulled and she would be a free woman once again. Then, upon their return to Antiva it would be a simple case of speaking to the Sisters in the chantry to arrange a ceremony. Something quiet preferably, and once they were marr…

He laughed suddenly, caught up in the novelty of his own thoughts.

Zevran Arainai, master assassin and most skilled lover in all of Thedas was about to become both a husband and a father for the first time in his life and it felt…it felt…surprisingly good actually!

Still, he really should be focused on the task ahead. There was business to be done and little time in which to do it. He tugged uncomfortably on the red steel chainmail hauberk that he had taken from his room guard and adjusted his helmet to sit low over his fine features.

When the silly fellow had brought in his breakfast that morning, it had been an easy thing to convince him to join him…even easier to get him to drink the drugged wine he had insisted he shouldn't partake of while he was on duty! The guard would be slumbering 'til mid-afternoon giving Zevran plenty of time to pay _her_ a visit.

Making his way toward the locked door at the very top of the tower, he had passed only a jailor and his assistant. They had both offered little in the way of resistance as a poisoned dart had effectively sent them both to sleep before they even noticed he was there.

Even the worst kept warehouses in Antiva provided more of a challenge than this!

Finally, he reached the solid wooden door ahead and produced a set of lock picks. The lock was sturdy, but not complicated and it soon sprang open with a satisfied click.

The room beyond was less a jail cell and more like a royal suite. Weak sunlight streamed into the room as a warm fire blazed in the central hearth. A bed, simple and yet still somewhat luxurious rested in one corner and a table and chairs occupied the other. The walls were lined with bookshelves and a nearby dresser was strewn with the day to day items one would normally associate with a lady of breeding.

Closing the door behind him, Zevran stepped forward to the solitary figure gazing out of the barred window.

"I take it I am addressing the former Queen of Ferelden?" He asked softly and was acknowledged with a nod of the head. "Ah, I thought so. The Antivan Crows send their regards."

The woman finally turned and Zevran found himself looking into the cold blue eyes of Anora Theirin.

She was a beauty. Slender and tall with creamy skin and golden hair but there was just that trace of arrogance, a certain look that reminded him way too much of her father. Indeed, he had most definitely seen such a look in the eyes of Loghain Mac Tir when _he_ had tasked _him_ to kill the Warden…

A family trait, no doubt.

"You are not a palace guard." Anora stated, her marble face impassive. "I take it you are here for a reason?"

"Well…I believe you hired us to complete a task for you with regard to a certain lady of our mutual acquaintance."

"Lady...lady?" Spots of colour rose to her cheeks. "That treacherous creature is no lady!"

"Well, whatever you considered her, I believe you wanted her dead, no?" Zevran shrugged dismissively, watching Anora pace over to the table and pour herself a cup of water from an earthenware jug.

"I did." Anora spoke simply, but there was such hate in her tone that Zevran raised his brows in surprise. "I take it by your use of the past tense that the job is done?"

"It is…ended if that is what you mean." Zevran replied, smiling like a predatory cat as he stalked toward her and trailed a gauntleted hand up her arm. "You asked for certain conditions though. I just came to make sure you were…satisfied."

He felt her shudder beneath his touch and caught her hand as it flew toward the exposed part of her face.

"Tsk tsk your Highness." He purred, wrenching her arm behind her back. "Is that any way to treat one of your most loyal subjects?"

He laughed as he released her and then refilled her cup from the jug before drinking himself.

"Do not think to do to me that which I asked be done to her!" Anora spat, her eyes blazing with cold fury. "I paid the Crows well for your _loyalty_ and I wasn't a part of the contract so keep your filthy hands off me."

She glared at him imperiously and for a moment, it was all he could do not to slit her throat there and then.

"I take it she suffered then, as was requested?" She asked after a long silence.

"Well that depends." Zevran replied, refilling the cup once more. "She did beg me to stop as I took her and she fought like a lioness even as I felt her writhing upon me…but, in the end she knew only the sweet kiss of my blade."

"So you made her bleed then?" Anora asked with a strangely feverish gleam in her eyes. "You violated her until she tore and then let her die slowly?"

"That was what you wished, was it not?"

"It was." Anora suddenly whirled about and fixed him with an accusatory stare. "And the child?"

"Sold into slavery." Zevran grinned. "He fetched a fine price."

"So…it is really over?" There was a hopeful note to Anora's voice as she looked at him and then she seemed to relax. "At last. My father's murderer lies dead, the spawn of her womb condemned to a life of misery and Alistair…that bastard usurper will now know just what it's like to lose someone he loves."

"Ahhh." Zevran sat down in one of the chairs and leaned back placing his boots on the table. "So this was all about revenge?"

"Revenge? No, not revenge. Justice." Anora's eyes burned with righteous indignation. "You don't understand. I watched as our noble king stood by and let that bitch Cousland take my father's head. My father was a bloody hero for the Maker's sake, a hero! At the Landsmeet, there was an older Warden who even said that my father could have joined their precious order and served Ferelden once more. He could have been the one to slay the Archdemon and end the Blight as befitting the Teryn of Gwaren and champion of the people!"

Her voice had risen along with her temper and Anora coloured, apparently ashamed of her lack of composure. Taking a deep calming breath, she settled into the chair opposite and eyed Zevran speculatively before speaking again.

"But he was denied his right of redemption by the pettiness of my late husband's bastard brother and the murdering blade of his whore wife. At least I spared Alistair from seeing her death, something that was denied to me when he insisted my father was executed before my very eyes."

"You have certainly suffered greatly, dear lady." Zevran consoled her, passing her the water to wet her dry and trembling lips. "I see now why you hired the Crows. Indeed, if someone were to hurt those whom I love, I too would do anything to see them…_brought to justice_."

"Do not presume to compare yourself to me, Crow." Anora snapped disdainfully. "Your sympathy is not needed."

"Ah and here I am, such a sympathetic person too!" Zevran countered as he lifted the helmet from his face. "I thought you would have remembered that."

Anora froze as her blue eyes took in his features. A curious look stole across her face as her mind worked furiously to place him. Yes, she had seen him before…

"I…I know you." Her words came out slowly and she blinked as if trying to clear her head. "I saw you at the Landsmeet…you were with…with her…"

"With her? Oh, you mean the Warden? Yes." He smiled wickedly and then leaned forward across the table. "I was also there when we liberated you from the clutches of Arl Howe and indeed, I too watched as the Warden took the head from Teryn Loghain. She did it with such style don't you think?"

"You were one of her companions…" Anora's face was paling and her eyes were pinpoints of hate. "The golden elf with the quick blades!"

"Ah you do remember!" Zevran clapped his hands. "Glad I am to hear it but then again, most ladies do remember Zevran Arainai. I have oft been told I am not so easy to forget."

"What is this?" Anora panted, her breath wheezing through lips that were now cracking. "Why can't I…?"

"Breathe?" Zevran interjected smoothly. "Oh, that would be the poison you drank just now."

Anora's eyes widened as she began to clutch at her throat and frothy spittle mixed with the blood that now seeped from her mouth. She tried to stand but Zevran knocked her roughly to the floor.

"Spare yourself the effort, my dear. It will be easier for you I think." He watched as she began to pant, clutching uselessly at her throat as the effects of the deadly liquid surged through her system. "Your legs will no longer support you and also you can no longer speak. A shame really, you did have such a sweet voice. I could describe the stages of agony you will go through before the poison finally kills you, but I think I will enjoy watching you discover each new sensation for yourself."

Sliding from the chair, he then crouched beside her and stared into her terror stricken face.

"In case you are wondering why, I should tell you that I lied about the Warden. She lives, as does her child, and soon they will be happier than you could have imagined. I am sworn to her you see and I will do anything to protect her."

He dropped back as the Queen began to spasm violently.

"Ah, Anora…in some ways you know, we two are very much alike. When I found that it was _you_ who had ordered her death, I too wanted justice and also I wanted to see you suffer! How fortunate for me that I was able to sneak in here so easily, no?"

She could no longer respond, though he was certain she heard his words. Her body was convulsing with such force that her bones were breaking and her eyes rolled back into her head as pain beyond any imagining tore through her system.

Still, there was a grim satisfaction in knowing she was dying before his eyes.

He briefly considered telling her that Bronwen was now his love, and that Alejandro was his child and not Alistair's, but in doing so he may have afforded her a modicum of comfort in knowing that Alistair was to suffer after all, albeit in a different way.

No.

He would let her end her days knowing that she had failed utterly, as would anyone else who dared to threaten his beloved wife and son.

It took over twenty minutes for Anora Mac Tir Theirin to die.

As he slid on his helmet and left the room, Zevran couldn't help but think it was still too quick.

* * *

Bronwen paced anxiously.

Alistair was late and the morning audience session of Court had finished hours ago and yet, he still he wasn't here. Maybe some foreign dignitaries had shown up out of the blue and demanded his attention….it was certainly possible.

Yes, that had to be it. There could be no other reason for his absence, after all she had seen the look on his face when she left him last night. He knew they needed to speak…

"Your Highness…" Arianne dashed into Alistair's private study looking pale and shaken. "Your Highness, his Majesty orders you to the throne room at once

"His Majesty _orders_ me.." Bronwen felt her jaw drop as she looked at her handmaid. "I thought we had arranged to meet here and…where is Alexander? I left him in your charge."

The elven servant shook her head with eyes that were full of anxiety. "The Arl came for him after you left. He said that his Majesty wished to spend some time with the boy and that you were to attend him once Court business was concluded."

"Did he say why?" Her voice was nothing more than a whisper.

"No your Highness, but he was most insistent and he had such a look on his face." Arianne chewed her lip nervously and wrung her hands. "I am so afraid for you, my lady. Something is definitely wrong. His Majesty was so angry this morning…"

"I see."

Bronwen leaned heavily on the sturdy desk in the centre of the room as her legs threatened to buckle beneath her.

He knew…Alistair knew.

"Highness?" Arianne murmured nervously. "Highness please…what is happening?"

"I am discovered." Bronwen breathed, her eyes going wide with shock. "By the Maker Arianne, I may have signed his death warrant…"

"Surely not!" Arianne gasped, her hands shooting to her mouth. "He would never harm Alexander!"

"Not my son." Bronwen stated flatly. "His father. Tell me, do you know if he has sent for Zevran Arainai…the Antivan who came in with us last night?"

"Zevran Arainai…oh." The elven woman suddenly coloured as she realised what she was being told. "As far as I know, he still resides in his room…under guard of course."

Bronwen stared out of the window. The snow had ceased and the sun was shining weakly in the sky casting a pale yellow hue over the white roofs of the city beyond. It was a new day…

A day to put things right once and for all.

"Arianne, listen to me." She turned slowly as determination added an edge to her tone and purpose to her speech. "You must get to him and tell him that I have been discovered. I will petition the King to accept my guilt over all that has happened and try and persuade him to let Zevran go with our son back to the safety of Antiva."

"But what about you?" The elven woman's eyes were bright with tears as she spoke and Bronwen offered her a reassuring smile.

"I am going to accept his Majesty's judgement." She felt her spine stiffen even as her heart began to break at the thought of never holding Alexander in her arms again…or of feeling the warmth of Zevran's embrace. "Tell Zev…tell him that I love him and to look after our boy."

"Highness…" Arianne began to weep and Bronwen rushed to her side.

"No, Arianne. No tears." She looked deeply into her eyes and held her firmly by the arms. "I need you to be strong and clever now. You will need your wits to get past Zev's guard and after you have spoken to him, get to the infirmary and approach Nathaniel Howe. I have set aside some money that was to be left to you should anything happen to me, but it is in the keeping of the Warden treasury. Nathaniel can vouch for you when you collect it."

"I understand." A look of determination came over Arianne's face and she nodded solemnly. "I…shall miss you, your Highness."

"I am no Queen to deserve such titles." She sighed. "My name is Bronwen."

"As you wish, your…Bronwen." Arianne hugged her, tentatively at first but then with genuine affection before she rushed back to the door. "I will not fail you my Lady, it has been…an honour."

As the door closed behind her, Bronwen finally gave way to the gasping sob she had been holding and then angrily composed herself. Both Alistair and Zevran had fallen in love with the Lady Cousland, a Grey Warden with the skills of a ranger and a duellist without peer.

If she was to meet her fate, then let it be as the woman she should always have been.

With a determined sigh, she returned to her room to change.

At least she would get to be true to herself at the end.

* * *

"Her Royal Highness, the Queen-Consort!"

The herald announced her as the great doors to the throne room opened and she felt a tremor run through her body as forty pairs of eyes swung her way.

The nobles and banns were all still assembled, though Bronwen could detect no scorn coming from anyone, merely curiosity as she made her way down the hall dressed in her black high-dragon skin armour with the Voice of Velvet on one shoulder and her Warden's Companion longsword on the other.

A whispered ripple of confusion seemed to follow her as she strode toward the dais upon which rested the throne of Ferelden. A few of the banns even bowed or offered their respects as she slowly made her way to the other end of the hall, but otherwise there was an uncomfortable silence that told her that they knew _something_ was wrong.

As she approached the dais, Arl Eamon Guerin stopped her short of climbing the small stairs and looked at her with open contempt. She didn't even acknowledge his presence, but kept her eyes fixed on the man seated on the throne before her and straightened visibly under his penetrating gaze.

At this moment, dressed in his finest silverite heavy plate with his dusty blonde hair neatly groomed and his hazel eyes ablaze , Alistair Theirin looked truly resplendent and every inch the magnificent monarch she knew he could be.

"My King." She declared loudly, and dropping to one knee. "I have come to beg your forgiveness."

With deliberate slowness, she laid her weapons before him and fixed her gaze to the floor. The throne room was deathly silent and she nearly jumped when she heard Alistair stirring in his seat but still, she did not raise her head.

All depended on this moment and she had to stay calm for the sake of Zevran and their child.

"Your Majesty?" Eamon prompted him, taking a cautious step toward her smouldering husband. "Isn't there something you wish to say to the _Lady_?"

His leading question was met with silence and Bronwen could feel the growing tension among the nobles as the king sat motionless, staring at her with an intensity that threatened to bore through her skull.

"Why?"

Alistair's voice was so quite that she doubted she had heard anything at all.

"Why?" He repeated and she slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze.

Bronwen felt unbidden tears begin to spill down her cheeks as she looked into his handsome face and her soul was pierced by the hurt and betrayal she saw there. The light that had always been evident in the glint of his eyes and the joy that pulled endlessly at the corners of his mouth were both absent and she ached, knowing it was she who had done this to him.

"Your Majesty!" Eamon insisted, trying to catch Alistair's attention. "Isn't there something you wish to bring before the court concerning the recent actions of your lady wife?"

Alistair ignored him and merely held her gaze, his heart trying to reach out to hers in an understanding that was beyond either of them.

"How could you do this to me?" He croaked as he moved forward out of his seat. "How could you do this to us?"

"I…I…" She tried to think of a way to say it without hurting him. Tried to think of words that would explain away some of the pain he would be forced to endure, but there was only the simple truth. "Because I love him, Alistair."

The bestial cry that tore from the lips of her husband knocked her sprawling to the ground. Beside her, Eamon struggled to stay on his feet and several of the closer nobles stumbled against one another as Alistair's wrath rumbled around the hall like thunder.

"Majesty, please!" Eamon exclaimed, recovering his composure and smoothing his beard. "Your Majesty…Alistair! She is readily confessing her crimes. You must deal with this for your own good and for the good of the realm. As king you have an obligation to set an example…"

"Get out." Alistair's interrupted, his voice low but with a commanding tone that carried the length of the throne room.

"Your Majesty?" Eamon looked taken aback. "There are protocols you must follow. I am simply…"

"I said get out!" He repeated, his gauntleted fists flexing as he sought to keep his temper. "Am I not the King? Is my word not law? I cannot do this in front of all these people. This is my life Eamon, not some damned petition that needs to be signed!"

"But…"

"But nothing! I need to deal with this in my own way and I order you to get out!" Alistair's voice rose sharply. "That means all of you!"

Risking a glance over her shoulder, Bronwen saw the nobles glancing anxiously at one another before shuffling uncertainly toward the door.

"Go! Your King commands it!" Alistair yelled, his voice growing stronger and louder. "Everybody, leave me alone with her! Nobles, guards and you especially Eamon…I've heard enough from you today! This is a matter between my wife and I and it is not open for discussion."

The sound of confused mutterings, half-hearted protestations, idle speculation and downright condemnation accompanied the drumming of feet as they all hurried out of the throne room to escape the fearsome presence of the King and very quickly, the great hall stood empty save for the two of them.

When Bronwen finally raised her head to look around, she realised that she and Alistair were finally alone.

It was time to pay the price.


	15. Letting Go

LETTING GO

The silence was heavy and seemed to weigh down upon Bronwen's shoulders as she climbed unsteadily to her feet. Alistair stood before her, trembling like a new born colt as he drew in deep ragged breaths to still the hammering of his heart.

"Alistair." She said softly. "Alistair I'm so sorry, I'm so…"

"How long?" Alistair's voice was steady despite the shaking of his powerful frame.

"What do you mean?" Bronwen answered, uncertain of the subject of his question.

Oh Maker…did he know about Alexander…?

"How long have you been with him, with…Zevran?" His voice cracked as he said the elf's name and she could see him wincing at the mere mention of the Antivan.

"I hadn't seen him for over a year until the other night." She replied as he slowly turned to face her. "It's not what you think…"

"Oh really? It's not what I think?" His eyebrows arched in outraged incredulity and he stared at her with eyes that were brimming with tears. "You see, it's actually quite funny. Here I was thinking you were in our son's room last night fucking that elven whoreson, when apparently you have another perfectly reasonable explanation."

"Alistair, don't do this." She took a nervous step forward and held out her hand. "I need to explain…"

"Oh I see." He crossed his arms defensively and looked down at her. "You need to explain, well off you go then."

"Alistair, please."

"Please…please! Please what? Please stop talking? Please stop caring that my wife is a slut? Please stop wondering why it wasn't me in her bed and not some pox ridden assassin who just happened to show up out of the blue?"

"Don't do this." Bronwen breathed, her eyes pleading with him to listen. "I'm trying to tell you the truth."

"The truth?" He almost laughed. "That'll be a first."

"Just listen to me for once in your life, will you!" She snapped, frustration adding unnecessary venom to her tone. "I know you're angry but…"

"Angry? You're damned right I'm angry! What in Andraste's name did you think you were doing?" Anger burned brightly in Alistair's hazel eyes and Bronwen took an involuntary step back. "You are my wife Bronwen! All I have done since the day we met is love you with all my heart and I stupidly thought that you loved me too. I trusted you…I took you into my bed and I gave you everything I had, everything that I am and you threw it away for…for that bastard son of a whore!"

"I love him, Alistair!" Bronwen screamed. "I tried not to, but I can't help the way I feel about him anymore than I can help the way I feel about you!"

"And just how do you feel about me?" He retorted, accusation and hurt daring her to respond.

"I…I care for you a great deal but I don't _love_ you, not in that way." She lowered her eyes as guilt stole her words.

"Did you ever love me?"

"I…I don't know."

"Oh come on!" Alistair threw his hands into the air and began to shake. "So what was I then? Just a distraction until Zevran decided to crawl back into your bed! Andraste's tears, woman, he's probably passed through every whore house between here and Antiva on his little visit to see you!"

"Stop it Alistair."

"All you are to him is just another conquest…another woman he can say he's bedded before he moves on to the next one. Hells, he's probably eyeing up the captain of the guard as we speak! He seems to have a rather hard spot for good looking men too from what I recall…"

"It's not like that. He cares a great deal for me."

"Hello…he's an assassin! He's been taught to care about no one but himself! Remember all those little speeches he gave about _taking pleasure where you can find it_ and all that rubbish. Do you really think you're that special to him? Do you really think he could ever love you the way that I do?"

"Does it matter?" Bronwen asked suddenly, fixing Alistair with a penetrating stare. "This isn't about what Zevran does or doesn't feel…this is about us!"

For a moment they simply considered each other in silence.

Grey Wardens both, she and Alistair together had endured unimaginable grief, the deepest betrayal and near death during the darkspawn attack at the battle of Ostagar. As growing friends they had fought to defend Redcliffe from a host of the undead and then revived the ailing Arl Eamon when against all odds they recovered the sacred ashes of Andraste.

Then as they grew closer still, they had become lovers, sharing their bodies as well as their hearts while they battled through the Deep Roads of Orzammar and the dangers of the Brecilian Forest. Together, they had survived countless battles before finally committing to each other at the Landsmeet and facing the Archdemon knowing that if they survived, they would rule Ferelden together as King and Queen…husband and wife.

All of this they had done, all of this they had endured and yet Bronwen had always known there had always been something missing. It had never been just about Zevran, though his flashing smile and lascivious wit had captivated her heart so much more than Alistair's awkward humour and ready confessions of love.

No.

When it came down to it, she was just not the woman Alistair wanted her to be.

The walls of the palace had been like a prison. The mundanity of governance seemed to drain the very life force from her and if she had to endure another bloody chantry service…

Alistair may have been a believer but as far as she was concerned, she had more faith in her blades than she ever had in some woman in a frock claiming to speak for the Maker!

The simple truth was that her happiest memories of their lives together were when they were facing danger, back to back, ranger and warrior fighting for their lives.

In the quiet of peacetime, the love was simply not there to sustain them.

"It's over Alistair." She said with finality. "I can't stay married to a man I don't love and I can't go on pretending that I don't care about Zev."

Alistair turned pale and opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Let me finish…while I have the strength to say this." She took a deep calming breath as she carefully considered her next words. "The reason Zev is here is that I wrote to him asking him to come. He was as unaware of my feelings as were you and in that, I wronged you both. I should have been truthful when I realised that my heart was torn and I can never atone for that."

"So you just planned to run off with him? Is that what you're telling me?" Alistair cried softly, his eyes glistening as the tears spilled over his chiselled features.

"No. There is something else…"

Maker's Breath this was hard. For so long she had needed to tell him the truth and now that he was here, it was more difficult and more painful than she could ever have dreamed.

"Alistair…there was something else I kept from you and from Zevran."

She could see him backing away as if his very movement could shield him from the terrible blow he was about to receive.

"It's about Alexander. He…he…I'm sorry Alistair, he isn't your son. He is Zevran's child."

Alistair froze. His face drained of all colour and he rocked on his heels before collapsing to the ground in a clatter of plate.

"No…no, you're wrong." He shook his head dismissively and held his gauntleted hand before him. "Alexander _is_ mine. He's my boy, he has to be…you are wrong, you have to be wrong…"

"Alistair…" She rushed to his side, compassion and care driving her to him but then there was nothing but pain as he caught her across the face and she fell backwards as stars danced in her vision.

"Maker…Bronwen. I didn't mean to! Oh by Andraste's light, forgive me."

Strong arms encircled her shoulders, snatching her from the floor and she pushed against Alistair's embrace as shock and nervous anger surged through her system.

"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry!" He cried, sobbing openly and shaking with emotion. "I never meant to hurt you! I would never hurt you…I just lashed out…I didn't think…"

"Let me go Alistair." She stated coldly, freezing at his touch. "Let me go!"

He released her immediately and she scrambled out of his reach. Anxious rage pulsed through her as she touched her gloved fingers to her lips to find them covered in blood.

"Maker's Breath Bronwen, I swear to you I never meant to do that." His face was aghast and the pleading look in his eyes shot through to her heart. "I am not one of those men…I…I…I don't know what to say…"

He collapsed once again, his whole body shaking as he sobbed into his hands.

"I've never hit…I'd never…Blessed Andraste, please help me! My wife, my son…this isn't happening…this isn't happening…forgive me my love, forgive me…"

"Alistair, look at me." Bronwen whispered, tentatively reaching out to touch his armoured knee. "Look at me."

His grief stricken eyes met hers and she had to fight the urge to take him in her arms and hold him tightly. Alistair was not and had never been a violent man. Whatever he was going through now was tearing him apart and his reaction, though unforgivable was one of pure instinctive emotional agony.

"I know you didn't mean it." She kept her voice soft as she sought to calm him. "But don't you see? If this is what we are reduced to, then I am not right for you. You deserve a woman who can love you with all of her heart, a woman who will never hurt you. You are a wonderful man Alistair Theirin but you and I…it was never meant to be."

"You sound so certain of it all, but how can you be so sure?" He asked, denial and desperate hope making his eyes gleam almost feverishly. "Maybe you're just confused because of the baby. Eamon said some women get like that, you know? They become all moody and depressed with no real reason and they think they know what they want, but they're just confused. Maybe you do really love me and you just don't remember!"

She began to shake her head, but he grasped her arms and continued despite her protests.

"As for Alexander, well there was so much going on during the Blight that even if you had slept with Ze…with him, he still could be mine! We made love almost every night, and I just know that I wanted to have a child with you so it must be mine, he must be mine! He can't be his right, I mean when did you…?" He scowled darkly as he suddenly recoiled from her. "Wait… were you sleeping with us both the whole time?"

"No!" Bronwen objected loudly. "It wasn't like that!"

"Well was it like?" He asked as this sudden revelation brought new pain to his already tormented soul. "Was it one night, ten, twenty…all of them! Did you compare notes…I'll bet you did! I expect you had a real laugh at the virgin didn't you!"

"It was one night Alistair, one night and Maker help me but I needed someone…"

"You expect me to believe that?" He stared in disbelief. "We talked all the time! You know you could have come to me, Bronwen! If there was something wrong you could have…"

"You were too busy fucking Morrigan! You were fucking Morrigan on what could have been our last night together and I was left alone!" Her voice broke as she screamed. "I was scared Alistair and I needed someone to hold me and tell me it was all going to be alright. I found Zevran and yes, we had sex but more than that…I fell in love with him. I never meant for it to happen…damn it all, I never meant for any of this…"

It was too much. The rawness of the wound that she had reopened bled out with her tears as she saw the stricken look on Alistair's face.

"You stopped loving me because of what I did with Morrigan! Bronwen, I only did that damned ritual because you insisted! You said it was our only chance to survive the slaying of the Archdemon and then we could be together…Oh Maker!" His voice became hoarse as he struggled to speak. "Are you saying this is _my_ fault…?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying." She sobbed. "It wasn't your fault…it was mine. All mine. I should never have agreed to marry you when my heart belonged to another. I thought I could change and that over time I would grow to love you. When I found out about the baby, I really thought he was yours. I really hoped he would bring us closer together and for a time he did…until I realised that there was a chance he was Zev's."

"That's why you tried so hard to find him." He murmured.

"Yes, I thought he deserved to know that there was a possibility I was carrying his child." Bronwen shuddered as she fought to bring herself under control. "I didn't know that he was the father for certain until the night he was born. I never told you, but that night I had a vision…"

"I know." Alistair's eyes suddenly locked onto hers. "I shared it with you."

"What?" This time it was her turn to reel in shock. "How…?"

"I don't know. Whether it was the taint or Wynne's magic that somehow linked us I felt…that is, I saw in my mind who it was that reached out to you in the darkness." A profound look of sorrowful regret softened Alistair's ravaged features. "It wasn't me, it wasn't even Alexander…it was him, that bloody Antivan assassin. I saw him as clearly as I see you now and I heard his voice as he spoke to you."

"Oh Maker…" Her breath came in snatches as she realised with horror, the painful burden that Alistair had been carrying for all this time. "I didn't know…I didn't know. Alistair, why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what? That I knew you didn't come back for me and that the only thing that was holding you to this life was Zevran Arainai, your one true love and the real father of your child?" He looked away as a fresh lance of pain speared his breaking heart. "How could I admit something like that? I wanted to deny it, to believe it was just an illusion or a trick, but then I saw Duncan. He looked so sad, like he was trying to tell me something and I think I knew then…even if I did choose to ignore it."

His eyes drifted back up to her face and she felt her heart stop with the agony she saw there.

"I can't ignore it anymore though can I? Zevran is here and is sharing your bed and as for my…for Alexander, he even looks like him more and more each day. I'm not blind." He slowly climbed to his feet. "It's over isn't it? We are over. I wish it had been different, I wish you could have loved me as I love you but now…"

"Now?" Bronwen asked softly, her heart breaking.

"Eamon wants me to put you on trial for high treason." Exhaustion stole the strength from his limbs as he slumped into his throne. "He thinks you should be confined in the tower like Anora and that Zevran should be executed."

"And you?" Her voice quavered as she looked into his tired hazel eyes. "What does the King think?"

"_The King_ has to agree with Eamon." Alistair replied flatly. "_The King_ has to think of Ferelden and of his standing with the other nations. _The King_ has to respect the law and the traditions of the country he rules! _The King_ is trapped by his own bloody throne however he feels about condemning the woman he loves even though she has just broken his heart and taken from him the only son he's ever likely to have!"

Bronwen jumped as he slammed his fist down onto the gilded arm of the throne.

"Damn it, Bronwen! In Andraste's name give me a reason not to condemn you! Give me a reason to set you free and make this right! Tell me it's all been a lie and that Zevran turning up was a coincidence. You could say that you didn't spend the night with him, but with me and I'll stand by you! I'll have to order him banished from Ferelden but then you and I can make a new start and we can raise Alexander as our own. He need never know the truth…"

"I can't do that." She interrupted with tears in her eyes. "I love Zevran too much to turn aside from him now and I believe that my son deserves to know his true father. Besides, even if I did agree to your plans Zevran knows about his son. Do you really think he would be able to stay away from his child? Could you?"

Alistair's head bowed as a fresh sob tore through him. "Then you realise you are leaving me with no choice."

"You're wrong Alistair. There is always a choice…"

A loud bang made them both turn abruptly and there was the growing sound of a scuffle outside. Raised voices called back and forth and Bronwen's heart suddenly lurched in her chest as she heard a string of curses being yelled in broad Antivan.

There was the unmistakeable sound of blades being drawn and then the great double doors of the throne room were thrown open as a figure in red steel was dragged into the hall between two much larger palace guards.

"Your Majesty!" Arl Eamon Guerin strode in behind the men, a smug look on his face. "Forgive the intrusion, but I believe that this… traitorous bastard was trying to sneak in to the throne room!"

With a flourish he snatched off the helmet from the restrained man. White blonde hair spilled out over the man's slender shoulders and when his amber eyes met hers, Bronwen couldn't help the anguished cry that escaped her lips.

"Hello my heart." Zev whispered softly, offering her a grin. "Did you miss me?"

"Eamon!" She yelled as she turned on the old Arl with steel in her gaze. "As your Queen I order you to release him at once!"

"You order me?" Eamon snarled, his words dripping with venom. "You are no Queen! You are a disgrace to all of Ferelden, nothing but a common whore who has betrayed her rightful King and husband!"

"_Vete al infierno, cabron_!" Zevran suddenly began struggling wildly in the grip of the two larger men. "Do not speak to her in such a manner again or I will…!"

"You dare to threaten me, assassin!" Eamon snapped, his eyes then going to Alistair. "You see your Majesty? This elf is obviously a threat to the safety of all who cross his path! Not only does he abuse his betters in your very presence but from the way he leaps so vigorously to _her_ defence he is obviously the one who was…"

"Silence!" Alistair roared, his voice sending shockwaves rolling throughout the room as he rose to his full height.

Eamon's eyes widened in shock. "But your Majesty! Was it not he who was in the Queens chambers last night…?"

"I said silence!" Alistair bellowed and fixed the older man with a challenging stare. "Andraste's Blood Eamon! Did I or did I not tell you I would handle this matter?"

"Your Majesty…!"

"You there, guards!" Alistair shouted, ignoring the protestations of the Arl and gesturing toward the Antivan. "Release him at once!"

The two soldiers looked uncertainly toward one another but quickly followed his command and freed Zevran. He took a step toward Bronwen, but she halted him with a barely perceptible shake of the head.

"Now..." Alistair continued, resuming his seat on the throne. "Bronwen, Eamon, Zevran stay where you are. The rest of you, leave us at once and see to it we are not disturbed by _any_ further interruptions or so help me I'll have your heads!"

The guards saluted and quickly made their way back out of the hall, ushering out those nobles foolhardy enough to have come rushing back in at the sound of the commotion.

As the room was cleared, Eamon shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other while Zevran's face creased in concern as he noticed the bruise that had begun to creep over Bronwen's lip. He flashed an angry glance at Alistair but Bronwen simply shook her head, silently pleading for him to be still.

Once the great doors had finally closed, Alistair took a deep shuddering breath before speaking again in a voice that was growing hoarse.

"Bronwen, before we were interrupted you said that…there was a choice?"

"Yes My King." She nervously stepped forward and looked deeply into his troubled eyes. "I know that Ferelden law states that I have committed high treason and deserve to be punished and that my lover should be executed, but given what I have told about...about our son, I beg of you to consider this alternative."

She dropped to one knee and sighed heavily.

"Your Queen I may be, but I am also the Warden Commander of the Grey. I have failed you in life, and so I seek to atone for my crimes in the only way I know how. I will follow the Calling and head into the Deep Roads. There I will serve not only you, but Ferelden and all of Thedas, by ending my days fighting the darkspawn."

"No Amora!" Zevran cried, running forward and dropping to her side. "What are you saying? You cannot do this to me! You cannot do this to us! What of Alejandro?"

He looked about and fixed his gaze upon the armoured figure on the throne.

"Alistair, you cannot let her do this! She deserves better than to die and you know it!"

"Zevran stop." She breathed, cupping his cheek and drawing his burning gaze back to her own. "Please, I need you to be strong.

"Then let me die in your place." Zevran insisted, running his fingers along the curve of her jaw. "I would prefer to live at your side, but I am certainly no stranger to death and will gladly embrace it if it means you will live."

"And what life would I have without you?" She whispered, wanting desperately to press her lips to his in farewell and yet all too conscious of Alistair's steady gaze upon her. "No Zev, I am resolved upon this course of action and I need you to swear to me that you'll look after our son…he will need you in the time to come."

"Amora, what you ask I cannot…"

"Swear it!" There was nothing but determination in her tone and she clasped Zevran's hand to her heart. "Please, my love for Alexander's sake and for mine."

"I…I swear it, my heart. Maker damn you for making me love you so." She saw the pain on his face as he awkwardly rose to his feet looking paler than she had ever seen him.

She swallowed down hard as agony tore at her soul and then looked up at Alistair once more.

"As following the Calling will certainly mean my death, I should like to beg a favour from your Majesty…a last request as it were. My King, my husband…Alistair, I beg for the life of the elf known as Zevran Arainai and ask that he be given custody of my son and allowed to return to his home in Antiva."

"What! Are you insane, woman, the boy should obviously remain with his father!" The outburst came from Eamon and his face had turned an ugly shade of red. "You really expect his Majesty to turn over custody of the heir to the throne to that…that…"

"And you, Zevran Arainai?" Alistair spoke over the Arl's protests and glared at the assassin. "Do you agree with this?"

"Agree with it…never." Zevran shook as he looked deeply into Bronwen's eyes, tears sliding down his smooth cheekbones. "But I have sworn myself to the lady and I have never broken my word. No matter how much I wish to…"

The Antivan regarded her with such love that she thought her heart would burst and she avoided his amber eyes lest her resolve be lost to their passionate depths.

When she returned her gaze to the king, he was sat with his broad chin resting on a gauntleted hand lost in thought.

"In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death…sacrifice." As Alistair uttered the words of the Grey Warden Oath he looked at her strangely, his face almost calm. "You would willingly die rather than see Zevran executed wouldn't you? You really love him that much?"

"With all my heart and soul." She replied, smiling sadly at the Antivan. "I only regret that I had not realised it sooner."

No one spoke or moved for a long time as Alistair considered the matter and the tension was almost unbearable.

"Very well." He said suddenly, rising from the throne. "As King and rightful ruler of Ferelden, my decision is this. Since my wife, Bronwen Cousland Theirin has readily confessed to sharing the bed of another, our marriage is to be annulled as soon as possible and she is to be banished from Ferelden, forfeiting all her rights and titles as befitting a traitor to the realm."

"Alistair no!" She felt the blood draining from her face.

"The elf known as Zevran Arainai is hereby sentenced to death…but only after he has escorted the former Queen from the borders of this land in the certain knowledge that _when_ _and if_ he should return, he will be executed for treason. Do you understand, assassin?"

Bronwen turned her head slowly to see Zevran nodding, the slightest of smiles ghosting across his face.

"As for my…as for the child known as Alexander Duncan Theirin…he will thenceforth be proclaimed a bastard and no longer able to use the Theirin name. The son of a traitor must never be allowed to sit on the throne and therefore he is also removed from the line of succession to live out his days however his mother sees fit. From this moment on, he is no longer my son."

"Alistair, are you mad?" Eamon cried loudly, spittle frothing at the corners of his mouth. "You let this Antivan whoreson take _her_ to the border and he'll scuttle back to that Maker cursed country of his and we'll never see him again! As for the boy, I can understand your reasons but he is your son for Andraste's sake, he is of royal blood! What do you think you're doing?"

"You forget to whom you are speaking, my lord!" Alistair roared, his eyes blazing with fury. "You would do well to learn your place and trust in my judgement in this matter! I am the King of Ferelden, not some fool boy to be led by the hand into every decision I must make!"

Eamon opened his mouth to speak again but Alistair silenced him with a look that could have withered a darkspawn.

"No Eamon! No more! In dealing with the nobles and the finer points of governance your advice has always been sound but for too long have I listened to you concerning my personal affairs when instead I should have trusted my own instincts. I may be King but I am not made of stone and in this case, my heart tells me this is the right thing to do! My judgement will stand."

The walls of the throne room seemed to echo with his pronouncement as Bronwen finally grasped the full implications of Alistair's decision.

In banishing her from Ferelden with her son, he was letting them go.

In asking Zevran to escort her to the borders, he was giving him the chance to leave with them.

In having their marriage annulled, he was freeing her to be with whom she chose.

Alistair had freed her.

Alistair had freed them all.


	16. As The Crows Fly

AS THE CROWS FLY…

"Commander…" Nathaniel Howe winced as he tried to raise himself from the bed in the Palace infirmary.

"Easy, my friend." Bronwen laid a restraining hand on his shoulder and smiled. "The healer says you should be up and about in a few days. I just came to see you before I, well…before I left actually."

"Ah. I had heard." Nathaniel nodded knowingly and rubbed at his shoulder. "There were…rumours."

"Oh?" She feigned a look of ignorance as she alighted on the end of his bed. "What kind of rumours?"

"The kind where the Queen of Ferelden and her son are to be exiled." Nathaniel looked at her from beneath a raised brow. "And yet, you sit here looking remarkably calm and possibly even a little excited by the prospect?"

"I didn't realise it showed." She answered, smiling warmly and then took his hand in hers. "Nathaniel, I told Alistair the truth and as a result…well, later this afternoon I will be leaving with Zevran and our son bound for Antiva."

"I see." Howe shifted uncomfortably and frowned as his cool grey eyes locked onto hers. "I hope you know what you're doing, Commander. The attack in the alley, surely you know those assassins were not there by chance."

"No, but I don't think for one second that Zev was behind it." She suddenly found herself unable to meet his gaze and chewed her lip thoughtfully.

"He may not have instigated it, but he is the Guild Master of the Crows." Nathaniel said quietly, concern adding warmth to his tones. "He _must_ know something."

"Of that I have no doubt." She agreed reluctantly. "But I know Zev. He'd never let anything happen to me or his son. If he does know who tried to have me killed, I expect they've already signed their own death warrant, and if Zev doesn't find them…I will."

"Forgive me, Commander." Nathaniel said as he reached over to push a strand of raven hair from her face. "I suppose I just don't want you to go into this blindly. I've spent some time in Antiva and I know what a nest of vipers that place can be."

"I appreciate the sentiment Nathaniel, but I'm no fool. Anyway, there was something I wanted to say to you before we got side-tracked by Antivan politics." Bronwen sighed as she took his hands in her own. "During that attack, the fact that you were willing to sacrifice yourself for me and my son and that you _still_ care what happens to me means more to me than…well, more than I can ever express in words."

"Please, Commander." It was Nathaniel's time to look away as his skin turned a deep pink. "I have only done my duty by you, as befitting your status as my Queen and my Commanding Officer."

"Really?" She met his awkward gaze and smiled knowingly. "All that running to and fro between Zevran and I…risking your life even though you believed what I was doing was wrong…that was all for duty was it?"

"Maybe not." The Howe rogue admitted, offering up his rare smile. "If I may be so bold…?"

"You may…"

"It is a strange feeling to want to kill somebody for so long, only to end up holding them in your heart as one of your truest friends." He chuckled softly. "Life has a funny way of working out contrary to your expectations, doesn't it Commander?"

"Certainly seems that way." Bronwen suddenly leaned forward and placed a kiss upon his stubbled cheek. "Thank you, for everything."

She slowly rose to her feet and then walked to the foot of his bed.

"Oh incidentally, I'm stepping down as the Warden Commander with immediate effect. I have already sent my resignation to the Senior Members of the Order at Weisshaupt and I have asked them to consider you as my replacement, should you wish to assume the role."

"What?" For the first time during their entire conversation, Howe looked positively shocked. "Why are you standing aside? Surely the King hasn't asked you to do that?"

"He has not." Bronwen confirmed sadly. "But as Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, it would be one of my duties to liaise with him when and where necessary. I have wounded him too deeply, Nathaniel and to keep dropping in after everything we've gone through…it would just be cruel. I will always be a Grey Warden though, and who knows…maybe Antiva is ripe with potential candidates who just need a nudge in the right direction."

"Commander I…I don't know what to say." Nathaniel murmured, looking honoured and embarrassed in equal measure.

"Say nothing until you have thought it through, for it is not a decision to be taken lightly." She pulled a letter from her breastplate. "If you do decide to accept, then this letter contains the details of your outstanding service to the Order and carries my own personal recommendation."

She deposited it on the nearby dresser and then finally moved to the door.

"If you choose another path then I say be well and enjoy your life Nathaniel Howe, for either way I doubt we shall meet again."

"Comm…Bronwen!" He called to her as she moved to step outside the door. "It has been my honour and my privilege to know you. Be happy my Lady, and know that you will be forever in my heart."

"Goodbye Nathaniel Howe. Maker watch over you."

As she closed the door, a single tear slid from her eyes.

Of all the things she was leaving behind in Ferelden, friends it seemed were the hardest to let go.

* * *

_Yet again, I find myself waiting eagerly at a tradesman's entrance!_

Zevran smiled to himself as he perched atop one of the sturdy tables in the lower storerooms of the royal palace. Every now and then one of the servants would bustle through with a crate of foodstuffs on their way to the kitchens and give him such a look…

Ah well, he did always cut such a dashing figure in his armour, after all what was not to like?

Once the drama of the throne room was over, he had been given an hour to collect his belongings from what Alistair had unfairly described as 'whatever dingy tavern had put him up for the night' and to return to the palace to collect the lady.

The Broken Sword was a lot of things but it could never be described as dingy…a little rough around the edges maybe but Aldous had always kept the place clean. He would have been hurt to hear the King's cutting remarks.

No, really!

Anyway, Zevran had been told to wait down here until Bronwen was ready to leave with Alejandro. It seemed that Alistair preferred to have them depart discreetly, an understandable reaction he supposed, after all it would not do to know that the king of Ferelden was a cuckold.

Through his contacts, he had already arranged for a fine carriage to meet them just beyond the palace gates and then they were booked onto an expensive merchant ship that would pick them up at Amaranthine and take them to Antiva in luxury and comfort.

Hmmm…the thought of the Warden rolling around naked beneath him as the ship was rocked by the sea sent shivers of pleasure running up and down his spine. The journey would certainly be a pleasant one and he very much looked forward to the pitch and roll.

Certainly she would have no problems in climbing his mast…

Stimulated by the thought of a long voyage with nothing to do but take in the sea air and enjoy the warm wetness of Bronwen's body as she writhed beneath him, Zevran shifted slightly adjusting his growing erection and then frowned as his hand bumped against the silken hilt of Vigilance.

Ah.

She was most certainly going to ask just how he came to have her sword in his possession…

Braska!

Zevran sighed as he realised he was going to have to tell her about the contract. He had nothing to hide of course, but he wasn't sure how she was going to react when he told her of his little _visit_ to Anora. He would have liked to have spared her this trouble on top of everything she had endured lately but then again, Cesare had arranged the assassination without his knowledge and certainly he would have to deal with him when they returned to the Guild.

There were definitely going to be repercussions and if there was to be another power struggle, then he would rather have her fighting at his side than kept in the dark as a possible target for his enemies or a weapon to be used against him. Cesare had played upon his feelings when it came to Bronwen, used him to get her into the open and into danger and then it had nearly cost her life and the life of their son.

Never again.

Cesare had gone too far and he would pay the price.

At his side, Vigilance began to pulse with energy as if sensing his thirst for vengeance and Zevran looked down curiously at the exquisite dragonbone blade. The storeroom door opened again and he groaned inwardly as whoever had entered paused and seemed unwilling to pass by him.

"Do not mind me, my friend." He muttered, annoyed suddenly by the servant's presence. "I am just waiting for someone."

"You and I should talk."

Zevran's head snapped up quickly as Alistair Theirin closed the door behind him.

"Of course." He replied quickly, uncharacteristically shaken by the presence of the boy king. "I…had expected to see you sooner."

"Matters to attend to." Alistair answered bluntly. "There is a lot to sort out when someone comes along and destroys your life."

Zevran said nothing and merely looked at the former Templar with a carefully neutral expression on his face.

"Nothing to say? That's a first for you." Alistair scowled darkly as he began to pace around the small room. "You don't want to gloat? Don't want to crow about your marvellous sexual prowess with my wife and how you satisfy her in ways I can never imagine?"

"What goes on between the lady and myself is no longer a concern of yours, Alistair." Zevran answered calmly, his amber eyes glinting dangerously as the former Templar flexed his powerful shoulders. "And as you are no doubt aware, I never intended to come between you two."

"Oh please." Alistair sneered. "All those smutty comments at camp, the lingering looks and the blatant flirting. You were _trying_ to get into her bed from the moment she spared your miserable life. I knew I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"Then how fortunate I am that it was her who made the decisions back then and _not_ you."

"And I suppose you protested most sincerely when she made the decision to screw your brains out the moment my back was turned?" Alistair snapped. "You must have really struggled with that one for all of ten seconds."

"Why do you ask?" Zevran answered, gliding to his feet with all the grace of a cat. "Do you have a guilty conscience perhaps? Coupling with the witch was possibly more enjoyable than you thought so now you wallow in self-pity and seek to offload your own unhappiness onto me? Sorry Alistair, my only mistake was in not pursuing the lady ardently enough to spare her this charade of a marriage…"

Alistair was fast.

Zevran could have dodged the blow easily, but instead he took it squarely on the chin and felt his teeth rattling in his jaw as he staggered back against the wall.

"I loved her you bastard!" Alistair yelled, his face turning red. "What I did, I did for love of her, but you…you just wanted a quick fuck to pass the time! I have done nothing but love her since the day we met, but how many have shared your bed since then, huh?"

"It matters not with whom I have shared my bed." Zevran growled, as he reached up to touch the tender flesh of his jaw. "The fact is that on that night we shared a lot more than just our desires…we created a child. What's more, when I felt myself within her I knew I would forever leave a part of my heart in her keeping. Doubt me if you will Alistair. Frankly, I care not…but do not doubt that I love her as much I am capable of loving anyone and I will never ever hurt her."

He suddenly stepped up to the taller man and locked his blazing eyes onto Alistair's accusatory stare.

"And I also promise you this. Anyone that even thinks to harm either my son or my beloved Bronwen in any way will soon find themselves with a blade between their ribs…This I swear."

"Which brings me another point." Alistair stated flatly, unwilling to flinch from Zevran's burning gaze. "It seems that Anora Theirin passed away today. You wouldn't know anything about it I suppose…"

"I was in my room, under guard." Zevran answered with a smile growing across his face. "Then of course, I decided to join you in the throne room. I would have had no reason to visit the old king's widow…unless she had done something to threaten the safety of my family or even that of your Majesty. Then I would be compelled to act in ah, defence of the realm shall we say?"

"I see." Alistair finally looked away and took a deep breath. "The thing is, she seems to have been poisoned, or so the physicians tell me, yet no one recalls seeing anyone suspicious either going into or coming out of her cell. You're telling me that you really have no idea what could have happened to her?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong Alistair, but with Anora's death surely the remnants of Loghain's supporters have finally lost the symbolic figurehead for their opposition to your reign, no?" Zevran shrugged, a wry smile creeping across his face. "Maybe you should be asking your staunchest advisor if _he_ knows anything about the matter. After all, there are those around you who have toiled ceaselessly to secure your throne."

"Are you suggesting that Eamon may have had something to do with her murder?"

"I am suggesting nothing…not least that she was murdered. Tsk tsk tsk."

"Why do I feel like I can no longer trust anybody?" Alistair's eyes narrowed as he slammed a fist into the solid wall behind him.

"Spoken like a true king…" Zevran turned as the door opened and Bronwen stepped into the room cradling his son in her arms. "Ah, my heart. Alistair and I were just…talking."

"I'll bet." She answered shortly, flicking her eyes toward the former Templar. "We are just about ready to leave if you are?"

"Of course, amora. I take it the servants are taking your things to the carriage?"

She nodded stiffly by way of return and he could see the pain in her eyes. Whatever had happened between them, she still had feelings for her husband and this was going to be hard for them both.

"Then I will meet you outside." He offered her a reassuring smile and hoped she saw the love in his eyes before making his way to the exit.

"Goodbye Your Majesty." He called to Alistair as he opened the door to the outside world. "And do not worry, I will look after them."

He didn't hear a reply as the door closed behind him but then again, he had never expected to.

* * *

"You're really going aren't you?" Alistair sighed as Bronwen tugged the warm blanket tighter around Alejandro's body.

"Yes…" She answered softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Then there was an awkward silence, that seemed to stretch into an eternity as they sadly contemplated one another.

"I…I've already petitioned the Chantry for the annulment." Alistair blurted suddenly, trying to appear casual. "The formal declaration should reach the Ferelden ambassador in Antiva in a few days then you'll be free to…to marry Zevran, if that's what you're planning."

"I think we may wait a while." She answered, feeling decidedly uncomfortable discussing it with him. "Let things settle a bit."

"I see, I see…" Alistair chewed his lip and then sighed heavily. "What will happen with the baby?"

"He will take his father's name." She felt a sense of pride as she looked into small beautiful face and smiled despite her mood. "Alejandro Duncan Arainai."

"You're keeping his middle name then?" Alistair nodded stiffly. "Good. That's…good. Duncan would be…pleased."

She could have felt his unease from across the other side of the palace and reached out to touch him.

"Alistair, I'm sorry…"

"No." He held up his hand and turned his face from her. "Don't say any more. I think we've said it all by now don't you?"

"I will always care for you." She murmured, her eyes filling with tears. "You mean so much to me, despite everything."

"You know I'd like to think that someday, in another life maybe, we'll meet again." He took a step forward and held her shaking hand in his. "Maybe I won't be a king or even a Grey Warden, but just a man and I'll find you and love you and maybe you'll even love me."

"In another life Alistair, loving you will be so very easy." She gently cupped his stubbled cheek as a single tear escape from his hazel eyes. "I just wish…I just wish…"

"Shhh."

He suddenly pulled her close and wrapped his strong arms around her and the baby as he clutched hem to his chest for the last time. They wept together openly, for all the pain and for everything they had lost and surrendered to the moment as the sands of their lives as man and wife finally ran out.

"I have to go." She whispered, pulling back from him almost reluctantly.

"I know." He replied and then kissed her forehead. "I love you Bronwen Cousland. Whatever happens, know that deep in my heart, I will always love you and the boy who was almost my son. Goodbye, my love."

"Farewell, Alistair Theirin. I will miss you."

As her hand caught upon the door latch, she turned to look at him for one last time before stepping out into the courtyard.

Even as the door closed behind her, Bronwen Cousland knew she would never forget the look that had been on his face…

Or the love that was forever in his heart.

* * *

The carriage rocked gently as it made its way along the road to Amaranthine and Bronwen pulled the warm furs inside over her body to shield herself and her baby against the chill that was certain to follow as night fell over the land.

Looking out of the window, she could see that the Ferelden countryside looked beautiful in the snow. Rolling hills of white dotted with farmhouses seemed to stretch on as far as the eye could see and the sky was turning a rich shade of pink as twilight claimed the heavens.

"I will miss this, you know." She sighed, relaxing in the embrace of the Antivan at her side. "But at the same time, there is nowhere else I would rather be than in your arms."

"Oh my heart, such things you say." Zevran's moist lips alighted on hers and she gladly surrendered to his kiss with a passion that warmed her to her core before resting her head on his shoulder.

"You know, I never expected to find love with an elven assassin." She grinned up at him and rolled her eyes. "I knew you were going to be trouble the moment I spared our life."

"You knew _I_ was going to be trouble!" Zevran raised his perfect brows and laughed. "Oh my dear Warden. My life was so much simpler when all I had to worry about was the next kill and in whose bed I was going to sleep that night, but now you have presented me with an entirely new set of dilemmas."

"Such as?" She joked, poking him sharply in the ribs.

"Well, now." He began, clasping his arms about her waist and sliding down into the deep cushions of the carriage seat. "Now I have to be a most excellent father to Alejandro and worry about him growing up, chasing girls or boys, getting into fights and duels of honour…that sort of thing! I also have to make sure that you have everything you could ever desire to make you happy and well, of course I will need to be certain that every night you are as satisfied sexually as a woman can be and this will require a serious amount of dedication on my part. I fear I shall be exhausted before the year is out!"

"Oh, you will tire so quickly?" She smirked, feigning disappointment. "What shall we do then?"

"Then I shall devise lots of new ways to keep you happy, mi amora." Zevran laughed. "It is a terrible task to be certain, but I shall endeavour to keep my end up, as they say!"

He leaned down to place another kiss upon her lips and she sighed deeply as his tongue pushed its way into her mouth. Her body reacted all too well to his attention and Bronwen struggled to keep her mind focused on a question that had been burning in her brain since they had first climbed into the carriage together.

"Zev…" She breathed as he began to kiss the sweep of her jawline and nibble her ears. "I do need to know one thing."

"Yes, my heart…" He practically purred as his tongue made short work of the sensitive skin at her throat.

"Zev, that's…Oh Maker…that's…wait, wait!" She swallowed hard as she felt her will coming undone. "Zev, my love…just how did you get hold of Vigilance?"

The effect was like pouring ice water over the Antivan.

"Ah…err, yes well…" He sat upright and looked at her with his most sincere expression. "That does require some explanation."

Bronwen failed to hide the amusement from her eyes as she watched him squirm under her scrutiny, although it was at this point that Alejandro began to cry insistently in her arms.

"Well done my son!" Zevran exhaled loudly. "Already you learn the techniques of distracting a lady!"

Bronwen rolled her eyes as she lifted a plump breast from beneath her soft dragon hide armour and presented it to the hungry babe. With a smile she recognised from the handsome face of his father, he latched onto her nipple and began to drink as Zevran looked on proudly.

"He is most certainly his father's boy!" The elf grinned, stroking Alejandro's soft black hair. "Though I am feeling a little peckish myself. If I could just place my lips on your other breast…"

"No you may not!" Bronwen exclaimed, mock horror on her face as she playfully slapped his hand away. "Besides, you were about to tell me how you came to be in possession of my sword."

"My heart, it is a long story and maybe not a pleasant one in the telling."

"We have plenty of time, Zev. The rest of our lives actually…but for now, just start at the beginning."

"Well, it began with a meeting of the Guild…"

* * *

_Many thanks to Tankgirly, TMcGeeSDCA, Eva Galana, Raven Jadewolfe, Warrose, Scooter13, Liso66, Zinala and all those other reviewers who read this first time round._

_However, this story would never have happened in the first place without the encouragement of my great friend and insipiration, Zevgirl._

_I hope that new readers enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and the sequel 'A Murder of Crows' is on it's way..._

_You can NEVER have too much Zevran :D_

_Quin xXx_


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